


Sanctuary

by Rroselavy



Category: Saiyuki
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bondage, D/s, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-01
Updated: 2010-06-01
Packaged: 2017-10-09 20:53:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/91495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rroselavy/pseuds/Rroselavy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the space of a few precious days, Genjo Sanzo's life has been turned upside down and inside out. But through it all there are two people offering him something that he finds harder and harder to refuse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sanctuary

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eyesofshinigami](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=eyesofshinigami).



**Sanctuary**

Genjo Sanzo managed to snag the last empty table at the Dean &amp; Deluca café on the corner of Prince and Lafayette before the rush of customers came in for their daily fix of high-quality brew and eclectic gourmet lunches. He laid his books on one of the spare seats, took his laptop out from his backpack and booted it up. Though the café was popular with both faculty and students alike, he'd found in the first week of classes, if he kept himself preoccupied and made as little eye contact as possible - the fraction that he did make being warning glares - he would be just left the hell alone. Which was exactly how he liked it.

At twenty-three, it wasn't that he was much older than the other students, but he'd always been what his father had called an 'old soul,' a kind way of saying Genjo didn't get along with his peers. (Koumyou Sanzo had also turned a blind eye to the fact that Genjo didn't get along much with his elders, for that matter, either.) That soul, though, had aged immeasurably upon Koumyou Sanzo's untimely death when Genjo was thirteen. It had come at the hands of a gang of kids prowling their neighborhood, right in front of Genjo's eyes. It had happened so suddenly and so out of context to the enjoyable day they'd shared together, one that had begun with them taking in a new exhibit at the Harvard Museum of Natural History that Koumyou had just curated, set to open the next day. Afterwards they'd eaten dinner at a sushi restaurant on Harvard Square before wandering back across the Charles River toward their townhouse in Fenway. It was a long hike, but one that Genjo often accompanied Koumyou on -- singularly unremarkable -- except for that night. That night Genjo had watched, helpless and horrified, as Koumyou took a bullet shielding him from their attackers.

When the pack of marauders were caught and subsequently tried, the perpetrators were transformed into poster children for an up-and-coming civil rights lawyer who managed to get each last one off, including the ringleader who'd pumped no less than five bullets into Koumyou's inert form, as youthful offenders. As it played out in court and in the _Globe_ and _Herald_, the mitigating circumstances -- that the young men had come from broken homes, were products of neglect and abuse and had lived no better than stray dogs - had well-heeled Bostonians clamoring for leniency. (After all the _Herald_ opined, a man such as Koumyou Sanzo should have known better than to be out with his young son in that rough-around-the edges neighborhood. Wasn't he asking for trouble?) Genjo had decided then and there he would find a way to make sure injustice was never served again, and with that singular purpose, the young orphan had pursued a career of academic excellence.

After he'd buried Koumyou, his estate had been settled and, along with the proceeds of the sale of their townhouse, put into trust until Genjo turned twenty-one. Genjo had then been placed into care of a distant relative, Neil Jameson, who'd at least given him shelter, if not the remotely the same level of love and affection as Koumyou. When Koumyou was alive, he'd rarely spoken Neil's name, so it had come as a shock to Genjo that they'd actually lived just across the Charles from Jameson.

Neil, though not much older than Genjo, was as brilliant as he was cold. Something of an academic prodigy, he'd graduated Harvard at age seventeen with a law degree. At the time he'd agreed to look after Genjo, Neil was toiling away long hours at social meet-and-greets and fundraisers to bolster his political resume as he built a case to run for US Senate. When he was home, Jameson treated Genjo as little more than an unwanted burden. That was fine by Genjo, though; as much as Neil hadn't been looking to be saddled with a kid, Genjo had not been looking for another father figure. So Genjo had kept to himself, kept out of trouble, and out of Neil's way, appearing with his legal guardian only often enough to cement the fabrication that Neil was a capable caregiver. Genjo was rewarded for his part with a top-notch education; when Neil won his coveted Senate seat, he'd enrolled Genjo at the venerable Milton Academy located just outside of Boston. Genjo's education continued seamlessly at the boarding school. In the summers he interned as a Senate page, staying at Neil's Georgetown apartment. Their paths hardly crossed as Neil's star rose and Genjo continued to lay the foundation for his future.

Genjo graduated Milton at the top of his class, which was translated into a full-ride scholarship to Harvard for pre-law; which assured Genjo he'd made it on his own merits and not due to being Koumyou's son. Once enrolled in the Ivy League school, it hadn't been a stretch for Genjo to rise to the top of his class there, either. He'd always been a loner -- as an undergraduate with the singular purpose of excelling, Genjo had buried himself in his studies. He graduated as valedictorian.

The echoes of his commencement address had not yet faded when he'd learned that his LSAT scores had secured him another full scholarship -- this one to New York University -- along with a conditional stipend for living expenses. Instead of starting in the next fall semester, though, Genjo had requested his spot be deferred for two years. At first the admissions committee at NYU balked at his audacity, but they ended up capitulating when Georgetown University made a counter-offer without batting an eye at Genjo's request. It was the first time since Koumyou had died that Genjo had a glimpse of how prized he was -- this time for both his achievement and aptitude. Even Neil had remarked with reluctant admiration that Koumyou's 'little brat' was a hot property. His fate sealed, Genjo spent the next two years clerking in the greater Boston area's District Attorney's office, working side-by-side with attorneys prosecuting youthful offenders.

That experience brought him full circle; the immersion in the criminal justice system had shown Genjo just how stacked the deck was against most criminals who didn't have the money to pay a lawyer and were instead assigned to an overworked and understaffed court-appointed lawyer, one who was likely doing time at the whim of a judge -- penance for some slight real or imagined -- who'd rather plea-bargain than mount a proper defense. By the time Genjo had completed his tenure, he'd decided that perhaps his original assessment had been wrong - he wanted to be come a civil rights attorney. His last night in Boston before he was set to drive all his worldly belongings to New York City, as he lay awake in bed late into the early morning hours, he imagined Koumyou smiling benevolently upon his son from wherever he was.

The move to New York City had left Genjo out of sorts -- leaving Boston behind had been bittersweet at best, his relationship with Neil had never deepened beyond thinly veiled resentment. But in Boston, Genjo had still felt close to his father; he'd been able to visit his grave whenever he'd wanted -- a grave that was often decorated with the very same sunflowers Neil favored in the oversized vase in the gallery of his well-appointed townhouse. It was a ritual that Genjo never remarked upon, but one that he'd been fascinated by nonetheless.

In early August, when Genjo had finally announced his intentions of leaving Boston for New York so that he could apartment-shop and be settled in before classes began, he'd been floored when Neil had announced that he'd be underwriting Genjo's living accommodations, and had in fact procured his erstwhile charge an apartment in Soho - a postage-stamp-sized fifth-floor walk-up on Thompson Street. Genjo furnished the studio apartment sparely, taking from storage what was left of Koumyou's furniture and driving down in a rental. Neil expressed no interest in helping, so their parting had been nearly as formal as their meeting; a fitting end for two strangers who'd spent the better part of ten years living as a family. Genjo spent his first night in New York City alone, sleeping in the bed he'd shared so many years ago with his father. It had been strangely comforting.

Even after a month, Genjo still found New York to be huge and alien. Compared to it, the greater Boston area where he'd spent his entire life could be described as quaint and provincial. He'd managed to find some balance by limiting his excursions to the neighborhoods around NYU and his apartment.

"Hey, ya mind if I sit here?"

A large book slammed on the small, round table, startling Genjo from his screen and causing his paper coffee cup to jump. He steadied his coffee and glanced up, the scowl fading from his face when his eyes met two liquid gold pools. He felt a jolt thrill down his spine as he his gaze was swallowed into their fiery depths. Genjo hurriedly looked away, shrugging his shoulders indifferently to hide his body's strange reaction, his eyes falling to the offending tome. _On Cooking_, read the title, _A Textbook of Cooking Fundamentals_.

"Uh, sorry?" the kid offered as he sat down heavily, his golden brown mop of hair lifting momentarily before it settled upon his head, bangs falling to his eyes. "There's no other seats," he continued, stating the obvious.

"Try being more careful," Genjo gritted as he clicked on the icon of his email program.

"'Kay!" The reply was laced with the hint of annoyance, enough to set Genjo's teeth on edge, and he was just about to let the intruder know his own displeasure when he was caught off guard again.

"I'm Goku." A hand thrust out and hung in the air between them. Genjo considered it carefully, noting the myriad cuts that crisscrossed the calloused fingers, and thought about ignoring it, if only to send 'Goku' away all the more quickly. He rolled his eyes up off his screen, and a strange feeling came over him when he was once again caught in Goku's gaze. The kid was attractive. His eyes were full of expression and his face open and friendly. Goku exuded a magnetism that drew Genjo in helplessly, and for a moment time stood still around them as each sized up the other. Reluctantly, Genjo broke the spell by reaching for Goku's hand and pressing their palms together.

"Genjo Sanzo." The heat from Goku's hand raced up Genjo's arm and warmed his face. He'd never had this reaction to another person before, and he puzzled over it until Goku cleared his throat, and Genjo realized he still had hold of Goku's hand; he dropped it suddenly, as if it burned. Genjo tried vainly to decipher the confusing roil of emotions that washed over him. He'd never had such a strong feeling - such an overwhelming attraction to someone - at first sight.

"Pleased to meet you, Genjo Sanzo." Goku flashed him a brilliant smile of even white teeth. Genjo didn't believe in love at first sight, nor had he ever experienced such intense lust. But without a doubt, in that instant, Genjo knew he wanted Goku -- not that he would act upon that - he knew he'd probably never see the kid again.

Goku's eyes dropped to the books he'd laid on one of the chairs.

"_Criminal Law_ ... _Criminal Procedures_" Goku's voice mused. "Hey! You're a law student?" Without waiting for Genjo to respond, Goku continued. "My boyfriend is too! Do you go to NYU?"

Genjo felt his heart sink at Goku's admission, which technically - at least in Genjo's mind -- put him out of reach. Immediately he was annoyed with the reckless muscle. Annoyed, and bewildered that he actually felt _disappointed_.

"Yeah I--"

"Maybe you know him?" Goku interrupted. His hand came to a rest on Genjo's forearm. Again he felt the heat radiating off of Goku's skin, a palpable vibration this time, running along his nerves, warming his crotch. What the fuck was happening to him? Genjo couldn't understand his reaction any more than he could parse Goku's enthusiasm.

"His name is Homura Taishi."

The name startled Genjo; he reached for his coffee to cover his surprise. He knew Homura all right, had known him from his days at Milton, and had crossed paths with him several times over the first few weeks at NYU. Genjo believed they both were enrolled in Constitutional Law, but the class had over three hundred students in attendance, so he couldn't be sure. He and Homura hadn't been close at Milton, though that wasn't saying much since Genjo hadn't been close to anyone. What he did remember was even then, the guy had exuded charisma from every pore -- the student body had gravitated toward him like flies to honey. With that also came ugly rumors, but somehow those never managed to tarnish Homura's image. The fact was Homura Taishi came from a political powerhouse of a family - one that rivaled Neil Jameson's pedigree; Homura was a nephew to the President.

After Milton, Genjo had never run in the same circles as Homura -- he'd been conspicuously absent at all of the high-powered Washington DC affairs Genjo had suffered in the name of Neil's blind ambition. Genjo exhaled a breath and took a sip of his coffee.

"He can be a little over-bearing when ya first meet him. But when you get to know him ..." Goku's voice trailed off dreamily.

Genjo's mind began spinning off in a new direction, trying to picture the two of them together. He would never have imagined Goku to be Homura's 'type' - Goku was a little rough around the edges, certainly not the cookie-cutter trophy that an up-and-coming scion to an American dynasty would parade around. The wrong gender too. Genjo wondered how that little indiscretion had never made it to the gossip columns, not that he made a habit of reading them.

Genjo took another gulp of coffee, trying to drown the sinking pit in his stomach. There was no reason to tell Goku that he knew Homura, he decided. He returned his attention to the book lying on the table. "What are you studying?" he asked, changing the subject.

"Culinary arts! I'm gonna be a chef. I've always loved to cook!" Goku paused for a moment, his brow furrowing briefly before he continued. "Maybe sometime I can make you dinner?"

Genjo blinked, trying to process the implications of Goku's invitation. And failed. Miserably. He desperately tried to connect the dots as to how he'd gone from just meeting Goku, to finding out he was dating someone he'd gone to prep school with and was now in law school with, to being propositioned with dinner. He glanced down at Goku's hand still pressed warmly on his arm, his eye admiring the tawny complexion before he caught himself. He blinked a few times to shake the confusion that had descended, to no avail, then raised his head. He stared dumbly at Goku's open face, trying to interpret it, mining it for any subtext of meaning. Goku returned his gaze steadfastly, the hint of a wolfish grin tugging at his lips.

"Ya see, I like-"

"Goku, there you are," a voice rumbled silkily, and Sanzo was left with his runaway imagination to complete Goku's statement of just exactly what he did like. He felt his jeans tightening across his groin.

"I'm sorry I'm late." Homura Taishi continued, turning his attention to Genjo, pinning him beneath his mismatched gaze. Genjo felt a tug of annoyance at the intrusion, then remembered that he was the would-be usurper. Homura rested his hand on Goku's shoulder possessively; Goku withdrew his from its perch on Genjo's arm.

Goku melted against the handsome brunet, his head resting against Homura's hip. He tilted his chin up and his face split into a wide grin. "Hey baby, I was just talkin' ta my new friend-"

"Genjo Sanzo." Homura completed Goku's sentence. A grin formed on his face that didn't reach his eyes as they roved appraisingly over Genjo. Homura reached out his other hand. "Good to see you again, after all these years." Without looking away from him, Homura filled Goku in on their shared past, remarking that Genjo had "excellent credentials." For some reason, he had the feeling Homura was not talking about his CV, not with the predatory glint he imagined he saw in Homura's bi-colored eyes. Feeling uncomfortable under Homura's steady stare, Genjo shifted his eyes away, training them on Goku.

"I invited him to dinner ... sometime." Genjo watched the way Goku's Adam's apple rose and fell as he talked, his face still pointed upward, looking at Homura.

"Oh, you did." The remark sounded more like an affirmation than a question.

"Uh huh."

"And he agreed?" Homura's hand trailed up the curve of Goku's neck, his thumb tracing over the strong jaw line. Goku tipped his chin down and caught Genjo staring.

"We hadn't got to that point."

Genjo suddenly felt on the spot and in over his head. He couldn't deny the attraction he felt toward Goku nor the irrational stab of jealousy that pierced his heart watching Homura fondle him. Now he could top that with embarrassment.

"I don't-" he began, shaking his head, but then Goku leaned forward and placed his index finger against Sanzo's lips.

"Just sleep on it, 'kay?" he asked earnestly. Homura leaned over Goku's shoulder, one hand sliding under his open collar. Goku's eyes fluttered shut momentarily, his lips parting to show the tip of his tongue. Genjo swallowed thickly as Goku's finger fell from his lips.

"He'll make it worth your while," Homura offered. "He's a fantastic cook." Sanzo reluctantly tore his eyes away from Goku's enraptured face to bring his attention to Homura, though in the back of his mind, he couldn't help but wonder just what that concealed hand was doing to Goku. Genjo's eyes narrowed. He was certain that Homura was being deliberately provocative, but to what ends, Genjo couldn't figure.

"Baby, let's go." Goku stood suddenly and Genjo noticed immediately the disparity in their height -- Homura was nearly a foot taller. Goku's arm looped around Homura's neck and he pulled Homura's face to his, crushing their lips together in a hungry kiss. Goku's body molded against Homura and Homura's hand traced lazily over Goku's back and grabbed his ass, right in front of Genjo's eyes. Goku's hips gyrated under the touch.

Apparently something Goku liked. Very much.

"I hope you take Goku up on his offer soon," Homura said over his shoulder.

Homura maneuvered Goku until they were heading toward the door and Genjo watched them disappear. He stared after them for a full minute before he realized that Goku had left his book behind.

Which was how Genjo had found himself at Dean &amp; Deluca the very next day, book in hand, feeling very much put out as an errand boy. He'd managed to contact Homura through email when he'd gotten home, only to find that Homura would not be at school that day; he would be interning for Sterling and Connelly, a prestigious white-shoe law firm located in midtown. Genjo was damned if he was going to run the stupid book uptown, so Homura suggested that Genjo catch up with Goku at the café; he'd be sure to 'tell him to have his ass over there' at whatever time Genjo preferred.

A part of him would have rather been anywhere else but meeting up with Goku again, especially after the dreams that had fueled Genjo's sleep the night before. In them it was he who was kissing Goku as if his life depended upon it. And it was amazing, unlike anything Genjo had ever felt before, either in his waking life or asleep. The Goku in his dreams had been more than responsive; he'd let Genjo pin him against the wall and dry hump him, his tongue shoved halfway down Goku's throat and his hands shoved under the waistband of Goku's pants, cupping the firm globes of his ass. Goku had reciprocated by grinding his hips against Sanzo's erection and crying out wantonly. Genjo had woken up; hot, sticky come striping his belly and soiling the bed sheets.

The other part of Genjo, however, wanted to see Goku again, longed to drink in every detail of him.

The café was packed once again and, this time, as he waited on line for a cup of coffee (café latte, no sugar), Genjo didn't see an open table. Just his luck. As he turned from the barista, though, beverage in hand, he heard his name being called out above the din.

"Genjo, over here!" He headed toward a table where Goku was seated, waiting. A novel lay face-down on the table, Genjo scanned the title, _A Fraction of the Whole_.

"Dammit, I wanted ta buy you a cup of coffee for your trouble," Goku scowled briefly as Genjo approached him before a smile bloomed upon his face. Genjo sat down and slid the textbook across the table's surface then placed his cup down. His original intentions of delivering the book and leaving suddenly evaporated. It wasn't as if he'd anything better to do, he lied to himself, knowing full well that he was treading into dangerous waters, but helpless to stop himself.

"You can get me some other time," he replied. He shouldn't be doing this -- coveting another man's lover - but Genjo was sanguine enough to acknowledge his illicit attraction. Besides, Homura was otherwise engaged for the afternoon.

Goku's face brightened at his comment and Sanzo pulled his chair in until their knees brushed together. He could feel the heat rising from Goku's leg. The sensation was not at all unpleasant; it caused a warm flutter in Genjo's belly.

It was an inordinately cold day for late summer and Genjo noted that Goku was wearing a thin mock turtleneck sweater that pulled tight across his chest before skimming his lower torso. The form-fitting mustard-colored knit revealed the rise of his nipples and Genjo noted the two balls that framed one - a nipple piercing. Immediately his thoughts ran rampant and he wondered what those globes would feel like under his tongue. He imagined the little nub of flesh hardening to a puckered tautness as he worried it. He took a sip of his coffee and immediately scalded his mouth.

"Fuck," he hissed.

"Are you ok?" Goku's eyes were wide and genuinely worried. Then, an understanding look seeped over his face and he gently removed the cup from Genjo's hand, replacing it with a bottle of water that had been in sitting on the table at his side. "Mineral water, it's cold enough to cut the burn." Genjo took it gratefully and, without a second thought drank some down, soothing the aggrieved nerve-endings. "I can't tell ya how many times I've done that!" Goku leaned in conspiratorially. "Homura says I never learn."

At this new proximity Genjo couldn't help but notice how good Goku smelled. Whatever soap or shampoo he used had a clean scent with an alluring undertone that made Genjo want to press his nose against Goku's tawny skin. The only thing that kept him from giving in to his desire was the mention of Goku's boyfriend. He leaned back in his chair, away from the temptation. Goku's hand slipped under the table and he boldly placed it on Genjo's thigh.

"Are you ok?" he repeated. Genjo had yet to figure out what to do about this latest invasion into his personal space. He got the feeling that if he allowed it, Goku would just move right in and take over his life.

"Genjo?" The kid wasn't going to let it go until he got an answer.

"I ... am."

"Good!" Goku breathed out excitedly before he removed his hand. Genjo resented the withdrawal. "Well, thanks for bringing me back my book, Genjo! I owe ya one, now!" Goku grabbed the volume, tucked it under his arm, and rose to leave. Genjo scrambled for reasons to keep Goku there with him just a little longer. The idea of returning to his tiny apartment-alone-was utterly unappealing.

"Oh!" Goku wheeled before Genjo managed to come up with a feasible excuse. "I almost forgot! An' if I did, Homura would kill me! Are you free tonight?"

"I think so," Genjo managed, after he'd processed the slew of words that tumbled from Goku's lips.

"Cool!" Goku exclaimed, reaching a hand into his back pocket. "I promote a night at Sanctuary, I can comp your admission. When you get there, just look for me and I'll hook you up with a bartender for free drinks too." He laid a postcard-sized flyer on the table between them. "I hope you can come!" Genjo's dick twitched at the unwitting double entendre.

"I'll do my best," he replied, his voice far more even than he felt. Traitorous body.

"See ya later, then. I'll put your name on the guest list." Goku spun and walked away from the table. Genjo's eyes followed his movement, glued to the skintight, low-rise denim stretched taut over the curvature of his perfect ass. After Goku had disappeared on to the street, Genjo glanced down at the slick, full-color invitation.

_Son Goku,_ the postcard read, _invites you to The Garden of Earthly Delights._ The text was floated above a back-lit silhouette of an extremely curvy woman in profile wearing fetish attire, her head thrown back, exposing the graceful curve of her neck. The corset she was poured into left her breasts bare, and her nipples were large and fully erect. Another woman, hands bound behind her back by an intricate pattern of two crisscrossed ribbons, leaned forward, her tongue extended, the tip just millimeters from the enticing point. Genjo flipped the card over.

Over the backdrop of a very toned nude male chest were the details of the promotion; he ignored them in favor of the image. A thick silver chain dangled down the midline of the torso, connected to a snug black leather dog collar. He noticed one dusky nipple was pierced, and that thought brought him back to the interesting protrusions that had interrupted the smooth expanse of Goku's sweater. Genjo stuffed the pass into his shirt pocket and rifled his hand through his hair. He had nothing to wear that would be remotely appropriate for a nightclub. His wardrobe consisted of the requisite conservative button-downs and upscale chinos of a law student who'd graduated from an exclusive private prep school. At one time he was certain he'd owned some less conservative clothes, but they'd been long cast aside. For a moment Genjo considered staying in, but the cold pit had settled in his stomach and the imprint of Goku's expressive eyes was stamped indelibly on his memory. He promised himself he'd just go for a little while, and be home by midnight. He'd show up because he told Goku he would. The decision made, Genjo stood up to leave. He needed to buy something appropriate to wear. Once outside the café, he turned left and headed uptown, toward the second-hand clothing stores on Broadway.

In the end he'd decided on tight-fitting black jeans with a thick, studded leather belt, topped with a slim-fitting black knit short-sleeve button-down and a pair of black-soled Vans canvas slip-ons. He'd liked the Doc Martens boots, but had found them cumbersome on his feet -- not that he was planning on dancing.

Stepping out of his building, Genjo paused for a few moments before heading south toward Canal Street. He decided if he couldn't get a cab within ten minutes, he'd call it a night; he'd tried. He figured though, it would be easier to hail a cab there than if he headed up to Houston Street. There, he'd have far more competition with the crowds out for the evening. He flagged the first cab he saw and, as he slid over the smooth, worn back seat, he gave the address of the club and settled back, alternately watching the people strolling along the sidewalks and the other cars that flowed along in the traffic. It was something he'd not gotten used to yet - the sheer magnitude of people and cars. It wasn't as if he was a country bumpkin, but Genjo was continually made aware of the differences between his adopted city and the one where he was raised. He did find comfort in the anonymity, though, that living in such a large city afforded him. While he was fast becoming a fixture at a handful of places in his neighborhood, he also relished the idea of being able to disappear simply by hopping the subway a couple of stops.

The club was on the west side -- on the border of the West Village and Chelsea in an old deconsecrated church; the latest iteration of its name being 'Sanctuary.' The cab let him off at the corner of the block it was on. Genjo paid the fare and stepped out; a cool breeze blowing off the Hudson cut through his thin shirt, raising gooseflesh. He strode past the four-deep crowd herded behind a velvet rope and headed toward the double doors that marked the main entrance at the south transept of the church. Above the doors, an arched stained-glass window -- illuminated by winking lights -- was cut into the brownstone façade. A bass beat permeated the atmosphere, vibrating the sidewalk and the air. Genjo felt his pulse quicken as he stepped up to the pair of bouncers-cum-doormen and waited to be acknowledged. If he were not on the guest list, he'd just turn around and go home. There was no way in hell he'd be caught dead standing around like cattle awaiting slaughter. One of the bouncers nodded at him dismissively.

"I should be on the guest list," he stated to the beefy man with a clipboard.

"Which one?" the meathead gave Genjo an appraising look.

"Son Goku's," Genjo answered through gritted teeth. The man flipped through several sheets of paper.

"Name?"

"Genjo Sanzo." He was sure that the doorman wouldn't find his name on his sheaf of papers; Genjo felt his ire rising at the pointless exercise his afternoon shopping excursion had been.

"Can I see some ID?" the behemoth grunted. Genjo stared for a few seconds before he reached his hand into his back pocket and showed him his driver's license. The other bouncer waved a metal-detecting wand absently over his front and back, ignoring the way his belt set off the device.

"'E's clean."

"You're from Beantown? You a 'Sox fan?" Genjo shook his head. "Good! Lemme see your hand." Genjo slipped his wallet back into his pocket and proffered the back of his hand to be stamped. "Crazy night tonight," the bouncer chit-chatted. His twin chimed in. "Yeah, something for everyone," he agreed with a wink.

Genjo wasn't interested in loitering to hear their review. He slipped through a heavy wood-panel door and into the cool, dark atmosphere of the club. The sound was even more palpable inside -- the pounding beat resonated in his chest and gut -- the decibel level nearly drowning out his own thoughts. He could see the lights flashing on the dance floor at the end of a short corridor. The black-painted walls on either side of him were covered with floor to ceiling murals of classic rock albums, all rendered in black and white. Genjo passed by a bored-looking coat-check girl with myriad piercings studding her lips and eyebrows. Her low-cut shirt revealed a lurid chest tattoo of mirrored-image blue birds; dead center was an anatomically correct, gory heart, wrapped in thorny vines.

Despite it being close to midnight, Genjo found the club was nearly empty when he passed into the main room - what had once been the nave. The dance floor was sparsely populated by bodies writhing in time to the driving beat under purple, blue and green lights. Above the floor a mirrored disco ball, bathed in warm light, spun lazily, sprinkling the ceiling and walls with orange stars. Genjo noted that the other patrons were dressed in a wide variety of attire -- from Wall Street brokers still in their business suits to various levels of fetish wear. He relaxed; he didn't expect to fit in, but he didn't want to call attention to himself either. The bar was located at the back of the room under a balcony that had been a choir. Genjo set off in that direction; now that he was in the club, he wondered what he was supposed to do next.

He stopped at one end of the bar and waited for the bartender to make his way back around to Genjo's end. The room smelled vaguely of stale alcohol. He was itching for a cigarette, but that would mean traipsing back outside. That thought annoyed him more than the craving he had for a smoke. Besides, he checked his watch, he'd give Goku a half hour; if he didn't show up, Genjo would be history. He leaned his elbows on the bar and looked at the array of bottles lined up at the back. The thunderous sound system was somewhat muted by the low overhang of the balcony. It was a welcome respite.

"Genjo Sanzo, what a surprise," a silky, familiar voice purred into his ear. He felt the heat of Homura's breath on his skin, raising the fine hair at the base of his neck. Genjo turned to face Homura, hiding his disappointment that he wasn't Goku behind an indifferent mask. Homura's eyes had a tinge of mirth in them and Genjo noted immediately that the expression on Homura's face was far more relaxed than he'd ever seen when they were in school. It was almost refreshing.

Homura brought his hand up and clapped Genjo on his shoulder warmly. "I should have learned by now to never bet against him."

"Bet?" Genjo raised a brow.

"I didn't think you'd actually show up. You don't seem to be the clubbing type." Homura was dressed in a skin-tight black tee-shirt that left little to the imagination about the mass of flesh and muscle hidden beneath. The body-skimming shirt was tucked into a pair of black leather pants. Adorning Homura's waist, in place of a belt, was a thick chain-linked dog's leash.

"You shouldn't judge a book by its cover." Genjo had the impression that he was being invited to share some very funny, very private joke. He turned his head toward the mirrored wall behind the bar and watched Homura in profile.

"I assure you, I don't," he replied, leaning one hip against the bar, his eyes skimming over Genjo's body. "Can I buy you a drink?" Homura asked before Genjo could respond to his comment.

He could get his own damned drink, thank you, and he was just about to tell Homura that, but when he turned back to face him, Genjo was disarmed by his smile. He was beginning to see what exactly Goku saw in Homura. Goku's words echoed in his mind. _He can be a little overbearing at times, but when you get to know him ..._

When Genjo had known Homura when they were younger, Homura had always played the social game to his advantage, but unlike many of the privileged, he'd never done it at the expense of anyone else. He didn't exactly trust Homura; at the same time, he'd never known Homura to behave in a manner that warranted mistrust.

"Sure," he replied. Homura motioned for the barkeep -- a handsome redhead with close-cropped hair dressed in a skin-tight black tee shirt with strategically placed rips -- who made his way over. Genjo told him what he wanted; noting that Homura ordered the same - Maker's Mark on the rocks. "So this bet, what was the wager - what did Goku win?"

Homura smiled and tipped their glasses together in a toast. "Whatever he wants," he said provocatively before tossing back his drink. As Genjo mulled the possibilities of Homura's statement, he took a sip of his whisky, letting the amber liquid roll over his tongue before it burned pleasantly down his midline.

"Genjo! I'm glad you made it!" Goku practically bounced up to the taller pair. He barely acknowledged his boyfriend, which would have bothered Genjo -- or at least set off warning signals in his mind -- had he been paying attention. As it was, his attention was riveted to Goku, or rather, what he was wearing. Which left little to the imagination.

He was poured into tight, black leather hot pants that only managed to accentuate every contour of his body, from the jut of his hips to the firm curve of his ass. A black mesh t-shirt skimmed his torso, underneath it, metal from the piercing Genjo had imagined earlier winkled in the cool club lighting. But it was the thick black dog collar that encircled Goku's neck that Genjo's eyes lingered on the longest, before darting them down to the chain threaded through Homura's belt loops. The image of Goku being led around on the leash sent a jolt of electricity plummeting down Genjo's spine, only to settle in his balls.

Homura dipped his head and whispered something into Goku's ear, his eyes never leaving Genjo's face. Genjo nodded his head in response to Goku's greeting, then tore his attention away from Goku and downed his drink.

"Hey Bobby!" Goku called out. He stood on the low foot rail that ran the length of the bar, his toned arm brushing against Genjo's elbow as he leaned across the bar.

The bartender made his way back. "Whaddya want, monkey?"

"Can it, ya stupid cockroach, or I'll make you split your tips," Goku retorted good-naturedly as the redhead ruffled his hair. He grabbed Genjo's arm. "This here is Genjo - he's my guest for the evening. I don't wanna see his glass empty. _Capisce_?" he asked, releasing Genjo from his grip.

"Yeah, yeah I get it," 'Bobby' said dismissively, but he reached for the bottle of Maker's Mark just the same. Genjo watched the bartender set up another double old-fashioned with chipped ice and then pour a healthy amount of whisky into the glass. He set it in front of Genjo on top of a square, white napkin.

"Thanks," he said. He pulled out his wallet and lay ten dollars on the bar; even if he was drinking for free, he could tip. The bartender put a bottle of Rolling Rock in front of Goku. Genjo turned and leaned his hip against the bar. Three gold eyes and one beguiling blue tracked his movement as he brought his glass to his lips. He bent his head closer to Goku.

"So how long have you been working here?"

"Almost a year," Goku replied before tipping the bottle and taking a long pull. Genjo watched his Adam's apple bobbing, then turned his attention to Homura. What did Goku see in him? Well it was obvious. Homura was on a trajectory that would take him to the very centers of power. He was drop-dead handsome, and wealthy. If he'd not been ambitious, Homura wouldn't have needed to work a day in his life. He could have been a playboy jet-setting all over the world, leaving a trail of well-compensated broken hearts. Perhaps the better question was what did Homura see in Goku?

"He's got quite the talent," Homura offered, leaning around Goku. "The club owners want him to promote another night, but I think it would interfere with his studies." Genjo wondered what _Goku_ thought of that.

As if reading his mind, Goku chimed in. "Homura's always lookin' out for me."

_I'll bet he is,_ Genjo thought sourly, his envy at their relationship momentarily getting the better of him. He drank some more whisky, and the alcohol set to work soothing his fraying nerves. He knew he was in danger of over-imbibing, but he was having difficulty finding his center. He was chasing after a mirage, falling headfirst into a bad situation - his instincts told him that.

"Goku gives me too much credit," Homura demurred. "He's perfectly capable of taking care of himself." That was something Genjo could agree upon. He glanced back at the object of their discussion and his breath caught. Goku had turned his attention to the music that was playing and his body was sinuously swaying to the beat. Genjo brought his hand to his forehead and rubbed it furiously. The motion attracted Goku's attention, and his hand grabbed Genjo's forearm.

"Hey, are you ok? We can go someplace quieter."

"No, I'm ok," Genjo lied. He covered for it by finishing his drink in a couple of gulps. The alcohol's warmth radiated pleasantly from his belly. He placed his empty glass on the bar, then turned back to face the dance floor. The club had filled up considerably and the dance floor was seething with writhing bodies dancing to the incessant beat. Fetish wear was more heavily represented now, he noticed. Goku's hand slipped into his and he tugged on it and brought his mouth to Genjo's ear.

"C'mon and dance with me." It was more a demand than a question, and a sharp tug on his hand had Genjo lurching forward. He turned his head to gauge Homura's reaction and his brow knit when their eyes met.

"Go for it." Homura mouthed, a wicked smile curling his lips. Genjo let Goku drag him onto the dance floor.

Their way was impeded by people stopping Goku to greet him, some capturing him in embraces, kissing his cheeks. All the while Goku put up with it good naturedly, returning the affection that washed over him in kind, never releasing Genjo's hand. He powered on into the crowded floor, the dancers in the center of the maelstrom were oblivious to the pair. The colored lights flashed to the beat; as Genjo looked around he caught glimpses of people frozen in various contortions. He zeroed in on a couple - the man had lifted the woman off her feet and she'd wrapped her legs around his waist. It didn't take long for his persistence of memory to piece together the snapshots into a film. They were fucking, right there on the dance floor while other people swirled around them. He watched, fascinated, as her back arched with each thrust.

"That's hot, innit?" Goku's breath puffed his hair. He was standing in Genjo's personal space now; he could feel the heat rising off Goku's body. He couldn't deny that it wasn't, but what he was picturing was Goku's muscular legs wrapped around his waist as he drove into his hot, tight hole.

_Fuck._ He needed some air.

He tried to disentangle their hands but it seemed Goku had other plans. He grinned inanely into Genjo's face and his free hand produced a pair of handcuffs. Before he could pull away, Goku had linked their wrists together. The metal against his skin was hot, Genjo could only guess where Goku must have had them hidden.

"Gotcha!" he said teasingly. His slid his free hand lightly over Genjo's shoulder, down his arm and then Goku molded his body against his and gyrated his hips. There was no mistaking the hard bulge that ground against Genjo's crotch; even less of a mystery was how hard he was from the sensation. His reaction was spontaneous and instantaneous, borne from the cock-tease that he'd pegged Goku to be. He threaded his fingers through Goku's hair and crushed their lips together in a ravishing kiss. Genjo pushed his tongue easily past the barrier of Goku's lips and teeth, thrusting it into his hot mouth with abandon, tasting a heady flavor of Goku's essence mixed with the beer he'd consumed. The kid had deliberately provoked him, Genjo protested silently, but somewhere in the back of his mind a warning siren went off; if Homura caught wind of this he was sure to be involved in an ugly altercation. He didn't expect the mouthed challenge of 'go for it' was a green light to molest his boyfriend. Goku's hand came between them and he pushed Genjo away. His eyes had a dazed expression in them.

"Now that's more fuckin' like it!" he hollered. Genjo jerked his captive arm hard, the jolt in Goku's slender wrist causing him to sober up.

"What are you playing at?" he growled. He was surprised at the serious expression that met his question. Goku's free hand drifted up and Genjo felt warm fingers brush his cheek as Goku cupped his face.

"It's not a game," he said. "I mean, Homura might make it out ta be that way, but I'm dead serious. I want you, Genjo," he averred huskily. The hand trailed lower, tracing lightly over Genjo's neck, fingertips skimming the blond ends of his hair before sliding over his shirt. Genjo's breath caught when blunt nails scraped over a taut nipple through the thin material. The hand continued southward, finally resting on Genjo's hip as he tried to process what Goku was getting at. "I think I read you right," Goku continued. "I think you want me too." This time when Goku drew their bodies close he dipped his head and bestowed a kiss to Genjo's exposed collarbone.

Genjo didn't know how he was going to keep it together, he thought as he buried his nose in Goku's soft hair. He wanted Goku with a need that was like nothing he'd ever experienced.

"Goku," he whispered hoarsely. Warm lips absorbed his plea. Goku's tongue teased over the seam of Genjo's lips as his hand tightened its grip on his hip. This time, the kiss was soft, unhurried; Goku controlled the pace, pulling away when Genjo's ardor threatened to plunder Goku's hot mouth once again. Kissing Goku for real was even better than Genjo had imagined in his erotic dream.

Goku's hand skated over Genjo's ass and he pressed his body the length of Genjo's. "Please. Come with me," he whispered plaintively. Goku's hips undulated against his groin, and Genjo's control, stretched far too thin, snapped. Heedless of the cuff that impeded him, his hands roved over Goku's body, ending by firmly cupping his ass, fingers splayed over the muscular curves. He pressed their hips together, the feel of Goku's hardness sending thrills up Genjo's spine. Goku's free hand snaked around Genjo's neck and he brought their lips together once more.

They were practically dry-humping each other on the dance floor and Genjo felt a telltale dampness in his pants. He was achingly hard and Goku's lips were enticingly soft. The room was a spinning blur as they moved together under the lights. Goku's body was solid and warm against him. Slowly, Goku ground to a halt and then pulled away. He was grinning broadly and he tugged on their conjoined wrists before threading his fingers through Genjo's and leaned forward, rising on the balls of his feet.

"I know somewhere private," he murmured into Genjo's ear. He didn't wait for a response, but instead he turned and began to thread his way through the crowd and, attached to him as he was, Genjo was helpless to do anything but follow.

Goku led him towards what had been the altar, where the DJ booth was situated as well as a stage where live bands could perform. Tonight, though, the performers were men and women in fetish outfits, simulating sex acts. Or maybe they weren't simulations, Genjo realized as he watched two women grinding their hips together, their hands symmetrically guiding a double-sided dildo inside each other.

He wanted to fuck Goku. Any illusions or inhibitions he'd had had fallen away somewhere on the dance floor, and for it, Genjo was willing to face Homura's rightful wrath. Maybe Goku would leave him, he thought. But then Genjo imagined Homura's arresting gaze focused on him and Goku screwing. Genjo wasn't upset by that thought, but the next one, the one that had Homura _joining_ in the festivities, did disturb him and give him pause. As Goku detoured around the DJ booth, Genjo pondered that. He was the intruder in the relationship and, though Genjo was certain Homura was aware of his attraction to Goku, Homura didn't seem that concerned by it. It was precisely that self-assurance, coupled with Goku's forwardness that kept throwing Genjo off-kilter.

Goku marched right past two bouncers guarding a door; they smiled pleasantly at him as he slipped Genjo inside a small, private room that had at one time been the sacristy; now it looked to be some kind of office or VIP lounge. As soon as they were inside, Goku shut the door, then turned and pressed Genjo against a sueded wall.

"That's more like it," Goku exclaimed. His eyes were blazing with lust. He raised his hands and began to make short work of Genjo's shirt. Fingers greedily explored exposed skin before Genjo grabbed both of Goku's wrists and yanked them away. The action had the effect of a glass of icy water thrown in Goku's face; it stopped him cold.

"So what am I, your toy for the evening?" Genjo gritted.

Goku's eyes widened, impossibly so, Genjo thought, before he answered. "It ain't like that," he said carefully. Genjo maintained a painful grip on Goku's wrists, mostly because he was afraid of the power those hands had over him. Goku's answer was not satisfying.

"If 'it ain't like that,' then what is this about?"

"What is it about? It's about I like you. _We_ like you." Goku stepped into Genjo's personal space and once again he could feel the heat rolling off Goku's skin as if it were its own entity. Sanzo pushed him away, though Goku couldn't go far; they were still linked by the handcuffs.

He'd sobered up quickly and, as much as his body was fine to go along with what he thought Goku was hinting at, Genjo wasn't sure his brain was on board. In fact, his mind was in full revolt, urging him to get the hell out of there. He brought his free hand up to his temple and rubbed it furiously. When he opened his eyes the room canted in a lazy circle, the effects of slamming down two doubles whiskies in such a short time span.

He glanced down at Goku, who was looking away. Genjo's eyes followed his chiseled profile down to the dog collar that encircled his neck, and were drawn to the thick steel d-ring on the buckle at Goku's throat. He imagined slipping his index finger through the loop and yanking Goku to him, and the realization that nothing was stopping him, nothing, that is, nothing except his own provincial ideas of what a relationship should be. As if of its own accord his hand reached out and his fingers glided along Goku's cheek. He turned into the caress and met Genjo's gaze before his lids fluttered shut. Goku grabbed Genjo's hand and slid it over his toned belly.

"Please," Goku whispered. His voice was low and husky and so full of need that Genjo found it impossible to resist. He hooked his index finger through the D-ring and pulled Goku toward him. Their lips met again in a ferocious kiss. Goku's hand curled into Genjo's hair and came to rest at the nape of his neck. He lifted the hem of Goku's mesh shirt and trailed his fingers over the hot skin. Goku moaned into Genjo's mouth, the vibrations cascading along his nerves, following the curve of his spine. He let go of the collar and slid his hand over Goku's shoulder, down his back to grab hold of his ass. Goku's reaction was immediate - he ground against Genjo, pressing his back up against the wall. "More," he groaned against Genjo's lips.

Heedless of the cuff's chafe, Genjo palmed Goku's other ass cheek and lifted him, pressing the slight body against his hips. The heat and friction were overwhelming; Genjo's mouth worked feverishly over Goku's, his tongue thrusting in and out as Goku opened wider to accommodate the assault. Goku supported himself by the arm he'd slung over Genjo's shoulder; a guttural groan of approval formed at the back of his throat, whetting Genjo's all-consuming hunger. He was in a quandary - he had to let go of the handfuls of ass if he wanted more skin contact, but Goku was so solid in his arms, so form-fitting, so _perfect_ that he didn't want to spoil the moment. He felt more dampness at his groin.

Goku broke the kiss with a high-pitched whine. "Ya keep that up," he said breathlessly, "I'm gonna come in my pants."

It wasn't a bad thought, but Genjo knew if he kept it up, _he'd_ be coming in his pants. Reluctantly, he released Goku, letting him slide down the length of his body until Goku's feet were planted on the floor. Genjo's body was shaking from desire. This time when Goku began to push buttons through buttonholes to expose his creamy skin, he remained still, defenseless. The room was spinning so Genjo closed his eyes and leaned heavily against the wall. He could feel the beat of the music vibrating through his back. Goku's breath ghosted over his skin before warm moisture engulfed a nipple.

"Fuck," he hissed out as teeth clamped on the sensitive flesh. He fisted Goku's hair, his fingers tight against the scalp. Goku retaliated with another nibble before he tongued over the sensitive peak. The music momentarily got louder then receded again; Genjo barely registered the phenomenon before soft lips descended upon his. He stiffened in his alarm, and would have pulled away except two strong hands tangled through his hair holding him fast. That, and the insistent pressure of Goku's mouth had Genjo dizzy from the over-stimulation. His eyes shot open, but they merely confirmed what his mind had already figured out. The blurry visage that greeted him was Homura's. Far from being repulsed though, Genjo found himself wanting them both. It would be so easy to let go, to succumb, to fall under the spell they'd been weaving over him.

Genjo removed his free hand from Goku's hair and tangled it into the soft, silky fringe that framed Homura's face. There was a surreal quality to the whole scene now. Genjo hadn't expected this kind of reaction from Homura, despite what Goku had said. He couldn't understand why Homura seemed so willing to share, because Genjo knew if their roles were reversed, never in a million years would he allow someone else to lay hands on Goku. Homura's hands left their station and Genjo felt Goku being pulled away. Glancing down, he watched his skin become taut as it stretched before Goku's teeth let go. Genjo expelled a groan. That had felt marvelous. The _chink_ of metal rubbing against metal caught his attention then, and Genjo watched as Homura pulled the leash free of his belt loops. He attached the c-clamp at the end to the d-ring on Goku's collar.

Wordlessly, his lustful gaze trapping Genjo in its intensity, Homura forced Goku to his knees. For a fleeting instant Genjo thought for sure he was going to get decked but then Goku's hot breath ghosted over the bulge of his arousal - seconds before Goku's skillful fingers undid his belt buckle and then worked the buttonfly open, effortlessly freeing Genjo's erection. Cool air caressed his heated flesh and Genjo's hips rolled involuntarily.

"I believe the man wants a blow job," Homura's voice rumbled.

He was right, damn it, but Genjo felt self-conscious in his desire. Goku might have worked him into a sex-soaked frenzy, but Genjo still had vestiges of propriety to consider. That is, until Goku took him into his mouth to the root.

"Goku," Genjo rasped, his voice breaking. Goku backed off, sucking hard, and Genjo felt his balls tightening. There would be no way he could last, not when Goku's tongue swirled over his hard shaft. Now only the crown remained in Goku's hot mouth and his tongue wriggled against the slit, milking it of the precome Genjo felt pulsing from it. Homura crushed their mouths together and Genjo kissed him back ferociously, his tongue delving deep into Homura's mouth, thrusting in and out with impunity, mimicking the action that his hips desperately wanted to do to Goku's oh-so-fuckable mouth. Except, Goku's hands kept Genjo's hips pinned to the wall as he continued to suck him off earnestly.

All too soon he felt his climax uncoiling and, as he came deep in Goku's mouth, Genjo felt Goku's throat muscles constricting along his length as Goku greedily swallowed his come. He heard the unmistakable click of the handcuffs, then felt the pull against his wrist dissipate before warm metal was encircling his other wrist, and strong hands were drawing them together, rendering him captive.

"No!" he gasped, raw panic descending upon him. Immediately, the cuffs were removed. Goku stood then, rubbing his needy body against Genjo.

"Hey, it's okay," he murmured, dropping the cuffs harmlessly to the floor. Genjo's arms dropped to his side; he stared at Goku, wide-eyed. Homura was undressing him, lifting the mesh shirt over his sculpted muscles, the dull glint of the metal barbell piercing his nipple catching Genjo's eye. But the spell was broken.

"I-I have to go. I need air."

The other two froze.

"I'm sorry!" Goku blurted. "Genjo, please ..." His gold eyes completed his plaintive cry, but Genjo was already re-dressing, thrusting buttons haphazardly through buttonholes. His mind was reeling. What had he been thinking? Everything that had transpired was ninety-nine degrees of wrong. And yet. And yet his stomach rolled pleasantly in the after-effects of his orgasm.

"Goku," Homura's arm wrapped around Goku's shoulders as he pulled him into an embrace. Genjo only felt more embarrassed, he dropped his eyes to the floor, finding the handcuffs that had been cast there. He'd stepped into something far more involved, far deeper than he was prepared to handle. He yanked his pants over his hips, stuffing himself back inside. "Let him go."

"But I-"

"Enough!" Homura warned.

"Didn't mean anything by it!" Goku finished. Genjo slipped past the pair and strode toward the door without a backwards glance.

"He'll be back," Homura assured confidently as Genjo closed the door behind him. He wanted to refute that, but somehow it felt false. He would see Homura in school; eventually he would have to come up with some sort of explanation for his behavior. As he left the corridor, Genjo was hit full force by the pounding beat and throbbing lights. He wove his way through the revelers, amazed that they were so oblivious to an act that had rocked him to the core.

He walked east to Fifth Avenue and then turned right to walk downtown. When he could trust himself enough to have a steady hand, Genjo fished a slender cigarette case out of his back pocket. Within seconds he was breathing his first lungful of soothing nicotine. By the time he passed under the Washington Arch that marked the northern entrance to Washington Square, Genjo had stopped shaking. But his head was still dizzy, filled with images of Goku and Homura. He was mortified that he'd left so suddenly - that he'd allowed Goku to blow him, and hadn't reciprocated. It was bad form to say the least.

He didn't think he would be able to get to sleep right away - he could feel the adrenalin still pumping through his veins -- so instead of walking straight through, south to Thompson Street, Genjo veered right and headed to the southwest corner of the park toward MacDougal Street, where he knew he could get something to eat at the late hour. The park was teeming with activity - from pot dealers to old Russian ladies, young families (with toddlers out way too late) to the steady crew of chess players who camped out at the concrete tables, their tops mosaicked with slate and marble boards. Once outside the park, Genjo turned south on MacDougal, stopping at Mamoun's, a little hole in the wall known for vaguely Middle Eastern cheap eats. He ordered a shawarma at the counter, then sat at a table to wait while the cook prepared it. Genjo took it to go, eating the wrap while he meandered the two blocks back to his apartment. By the time he'd gotten home, the first light of dawn was brightening the eastern sky. He'd calmed considerably, but was still feeling like a complete heel for his behavior.

His cell phone was vibrating madly on the kitchen counter when he unlocked the apartment door; he hadn't even realized he'd forgotten it earlier when he left for the club. He figured it could be Homura phoning, wanting to smooth things over or chastise him for leaving so suddenly, though, when he left it didn't seem that they'd miss him. Either way, Genjo didn't want to speak to anyone. He shed his clothes and slipped between the knit sheets on his futon mattress and drifted into an uneasy sleep.

He was awakened sometime later by urgent pounding on his apartment door. Momentarily, he thought that it could be Goku or Homura. Even though neither knew where he lived, it wouldn't be impossible to track him down. He found he was hoping that that was the case, then became annoyed at himself for his longing.

Coming out of the darkened bedroom as he stepped into lounge pants, Genjo squinted against the light streaming in from the modest living room's two windows. The sun shone gloriously on his meager furnishings; it was late in the morning, but it seemed like an ungodly hour. He rubbed his eyes and padded to the door to spy out of the peephole. The fish-eyed vision that greeted him nearly knocked him on his ass.

"Open up, Genjo. We need to talk." Genjo leaned against the back of the door, gathering his wits. "I saw the light change when you looked through the peephole," the voice continued.

"Give me a minute to get dressed," Genjo said through the door. He rubbed his hands over his face. His head was throbbing but he did the best he could to make himself presentable - first going back to the tiny bedroom to grab a tee-shirt, then to the bathroom to throw some water on his face and comb his fingers through his hair. Before returning to open his door, Genjo set the kettle on the stove to boil some water for tea, then he unlocked the deadbolt. The door swung open, nearly hitting him.

"Don't you answer your cell phone?" Neil Jameson strode into the apartment. His ego seemed to fill the room; Genjo flattened against the door. Shit. Genjo knew his former guardian wasn't prone to make social calls. Especially not when they meant a three-hour train ride, or a shuttle flight.

"I didn't have it on me last night," he offered weakly. He watched Neil pace the small living room, looking very much like a caged tiger.

"You didn't." Jameson repeated, his tone condescending. "Hot date?" He turned on his heel, facing Genjo and gave him an appraising glance, and Genjo had that familiar feeling that somehow he measured up a little short. "I hope you aren't squandering that fine education."

"Do you want a cup of tea?" Genjo'd be assed if he were going ask Neil why he was there. He padded to the kitchen.

"Did you see the morning paper?"

Genjo nearly jumped out of his skin at the nearness of Neil's voice; he'd followed him down the hall.

"No, I usually pick it up at this coffee shop down the block." Mention of the Dean &amp; Deluca café started a cascade of thoughts - a virtual runaway train of them steaming through Genjo's mind. It was impossible for Neil to have found out about last night, seen his picture in the paper and then have arrived in order to call him on the carpet. There just wasn't enough time! He took a deep, calming breath. There didn't seem to be any other explanation. Unless. Could someone have seen him at the club and then called Neil? Could someone have taken pictures that had landed in the paper. Oh. God. Genjo thought he was going to be sick. He imagined the color had drained from his face.

"Hm. Tea would be good." He sat down at the tiny kitchen table. Genjo noticed the sharp suit, the crisp white tie. Ever since Genjo had known Neil, he'd always dressed for success, though today his tie was askew, probably loosened in the car ride to his apartment. The kettle whistled, shattering the hush that had fallen in the apartment. As he waited for whatever upbraiding he was sure to be on the receiving end of, Genjo turned off the burner, then collected two white ceramic mugs from an overhead cupboard and two tea bags from a tin in another cabinet. He poured the water from the kettle, burning his hand on the handle. It was a poorly designed kettle, he thought for the nth time as he slammed it down on the stove, cursing under his breath. If he hadn't been so unnerved by Neil's sudden appearance, he would have remembered the potholder, he griped to himself. He set the sugar bowl out on the table with a carton of half and half, then retrieved the cups from beside the stove. He slid open the utensil drawer and grabbed two spoons, all the while acutely aware he was performing under Neil's watchful eye.

Neil sighed as he lifted a spoon and stirred his tea. The metal clinked pleasantly against the sides; it was a sound Genjo was fond of, it reminded him of mornings with Koumyou. He'd just started making tea for his father before Koumyou died. Genjo wondered what brought that memory up; Koumyou had been safely tucked away in the recesses of his mind for years. He felt suddenly very alone, in spite of the presence of the only other person he'd shared his life with.

"I suppose there's no easy way to say this," Neil began slowly as he lifted the tea bag from his drink with the spoon, wrapped the string around the pouch and squeezed out the excess fluid. Laying the spoon with its contents on the table, he continued. "Someone has it in for me - wants to cut my career short, as it were." He cocked one brow as he raised his cup to his lips, blowing across the deep orange surface.

Relief flooded through Genjo and he exhaled a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. It wasn't about him at all. Neil just wanted to tell him his side of the story before he read about whatever scandal Neil was involved in. He turned and, leaning his hip against the counter, waited for Neil to continue.

"About twenty-four years ago my father had an affair with a young woman. They were worlds apart and, needless to say, it didn't end well."

The hair on the back of Genjo's neck stood on end as he began to fit the pieces together to Neil was narrating. He folded one arm over his waist and reached for his mug with the other.

"Then, about six months later, she showed up with a baby-"

"What was her name?" Genjo interrupted.

Neil snorted. "Her name? That's unimportant. You can read _that_ in the news. My father was the Governor of Massachusetts at the time, involved in a tough race for re-election. The polls were showing the race was a dead heat. She and the baby were liabilities he couldn't afford. _She_ was unstable, capricious, flighty. One minute she wanted him to divorce my mother and take up with her, the next she was threatening to give the infant up to the State."

"And you know all this first-hand," Genjo managed between clenched teeth. The fuzziness of being awakened, slightly hung-over, had disappeared.

Neil dismissed his comment with a wave of his hand. "Either way, something had to be done. So he paid her handsomely for the child." The puzzle pieces snapped into place.

"Koumyou is not my father."

"There's more." Neil nodded, then took another sip of his tea; Genjo mimicked the action. His throat was parched, but the tea was doing little to relieve it. How much more could there be? This wasn't enough of a bombshell?

"I don't know who found all this out, but they were certainly thorough," he said behind a humorless smile. "Spent a lot of time and energy on it, they did."

"It's no secret you've designs on the Presidency." Genjo said evenly, the calmness in his voice belied by the tremor in the hand that held his mug.

Neil shrugged his remark off. "It'll be mine. This is ancient history. By the time I'm ready to run this skeleton will be a nonentity. People don't want to rehash old news. The other side won't be able to stoke fires with it."

"You seem so sure."

Neil drew out a pack of cigarettes from the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled the ashtray on the table closer to him. Genjo scrutinized him as he lit a smoke. _They were brothers._ The revelation hit him, numbed him. Why was it kept a secret? Did matter all these years later? Had Jameson planned to take this to his grave? Had Koumyou? Genjo had never asked about his mother; it had never been a subject he'd been interested in and, because Koumyou never spoke of her, he'd assumed the mention of her was taboo. He hadn't needed a mother; he'd had Koumyou. Koumyou, who had enough love to fill an entire townhouse. That was all that had mattered. It hadn't even struck Genjo as odd that there were no pictures of her in Koumyou's things. He'd never even found his birth certificate when he'd gone through all Koumyou's personal effects. Over the years, Genjo had wondered on occasion how Koumyou had managed to get him a social security number, and later, how his way through entrance exams and applications had been effortlessly paved. But it was never anything he'd had a pressing need to know. Someone had been pulling strings all along. The vastness of the conspiracy struck him then. It wasn't lost on him in that moment, either, that he'd been as privileged as he'd silently accused Homura Taishi of being.

"History has borne that out." Neil blew a plume of smoke into the air.

"What else?"

"Koumyou." Jameson closed his eyes, letting the cigarette dangle from his lips. "From time to time, he was called to give progress reports." Genjo watched the stick bob between Neil's lips. "He never brought you along. He didn't trust the old man out of his sight." Genjo wondered for a second why that would be, but then, given Jameson's disposition, he could make an educated guess.

"How did my fath-" Genjo stopped himself, his voice cracking. "How did Koumyou know your father?"

Neil shrugged. "Dunno. Really never mattered to me. Koumyou, though -- he was the most fascinating person I've ever met."

Genjo noticed the change in verb tense.

He swallowed thickly. "He was a good man," he stated, trying to believe it himself. Did good men deceive their sons so blatantly?

"You don't know the half of it." Neil straightened from the slouch he'd settled into. He leaned forward and crushed out his cigarette.

"When I first met Koumyou, I didn't think much of him, but I was just a kid, what the hell did I know? He ... he seemed so goddamned absent-minded, but that was all a front, I soon learned. That was how he separated the wheat from chaff. Koumyou was the first person to call me out on my bad behavior. He was the first person to treat me as an equal even though I was a rotten brat."

Genjo was having a hard time following Neil's recollections, but he had a feeling that Neil was no longer aware he was in the room. He took a breath and tried to digest what Neil had told him. It was almost too much to bear, the idea that Koumyou wasn't his father. And he and Neil were brothers. Neither of them had yet spoken it aloud; Genjo supposed though, it probably didn't seem much to Neil since he'd known about it for years.

_Koumyou._ No matter what the biology, whose genes he carried, _Koumyou_ was still his father.

"When I was seventeen, I was let in on the family secret. Probably was a little easier on me than you," he sighed, then fell silent. As the minutes ticked by, Genjo tried to find some equanimity, tried to resolve, assimilate, move past this. He wished he could talk to Koumyou about it all. As the silence dragged on, Genjo thought that perhaps that was all there was to it -- the specter of an illegitimate child hidden in a powerful political family's closet. He wondered how many skeletons were in the Taishi family's closet. At Milton there'd been rumors of Homura's less than unimpeachable heritage. It was something that had never fazed Genjo, and Homura had been remarkably dismissive of the gossip. Neil's voice brought Genjo back to the present.

"So I went to see Koumyou. It was easy to find him - he'd never tried to hide his presence in my life - he was always there on the fringe, just another in the parade of my father's endless advisors and lobbyists. I wanted to meet my brother, I wanted him to know how much the subterfuge _hurt_."

Neil shook his head. "He was unflappable. But he wouldn't let me see you. Told me I could come back when I was calmer - he wouldn't subject _his_ son to such emotional upheaval. He drew the line very clearly. It got ugly. I hurled every hurtful thing I could at him; he just stood in the doorframe and took it. It got physical. When I'd exhausted myself, he asked me in." Neil reached for another cigarette, this time when he lit it Genjo noted his hand trembled.

"We had an affair." Dark eyes rose to meet Genjo's incredulous stare. He felt his cup slip from his hands; hot tea splattered on the floor. Neil turned his attention to his own cup while Genjo wadded some paper towels and mopped up the mess. He didn't know what to say. But the flowers ... the flowers at Koumyou's grave made sense now. Neil had ached too, but for different reasons. He knit his brow as he examined the cup for chips or cracks.

"Why so hush-hush?" It wasn't as if being gay meant Neil's career couldn't have had the same trajectory. Though, Genjo thought, it would make the road to the White House less certain. Thinking about it, he couldn't say Neil was gay. There'd been plenty of women in Neil's life, though no one serious.

"I was seventeen," he reiterated. "Koumyou was more than twice my age. The scandal..." his voice trailed off and silence reigned again.

"You had it easy, you know. You didn't grow up under the yoke of propriety, you grew up in Koumyou's embrace, under his tutelage," Neil said bitterly, breaking the silence. The words stung. Genjo didn't think losing the only family he'd known at thirteen constituted 'having it easy.' But Neil had lost Koumyou too. Neil had existed in the shadows, in the fringe. And then he'd taken Genjo in -- the person who _had_ got the lion's share of Koumyou's time -- had given him a roof over his head - a home - when it would have been just as easy to let Genjo disappear into the foster care system.

"I'm sorry."

Neil's eyes darkened in anger. "I didn't come here for your _pity,_" he spat, rising. He crossed the narrow space in a stride so that he was standing directly in front of Genjo. "We need to reach an understanding on this. A united front."

Genjo shook his head slowly. Neil was the consummate politician; if he thought about it too much, Genjo could become disgusted by him. He should think they were even now. All the years Neil looked after him leveled by one gargantuan deception. But Koumyou must have seen something in his brother at one time.

"How long?" he asked. The question caused Neil's shoulders to sag slightly and he looked past Genjo's ear.

"It was still going on until the day he died."

It was more than just an affair. "Why didn't you? He ..."

"Tell you? Why upset the applecart? Koumyou loved being your father. Your real father loved that you'd been taken care of, and me? I had a piece of Koumyou no one else got."

"I won't breathe a word."

"Of course you will," Neil refuted. "We've a press conference to attend together."

"When?"

"Today at noon. You _will_ be presentable. You smell like a bar," he sniffed. "Try mouthwash. We'll arrive together."

"And then what?"

"We have lunch together very publicly - give the media some nice eye candy -- and then go about our lives as if this never happened."

Only, it seemed, the media didn't get that memo. The press conference had been a tightly scripted event with Neil's Press Secretary keeping the focus on the brothers' relationship, and glossing over the fact that Genjo had just found out about it. Nothing was mentioned about Koumyou and Neil's affair, which Genjo would have thought was odd had he been paying attention, since that was exactly the salacious detail the media craved. But he'd only stood there, numb, Neil's arm thrown comfortably around his shoulder, gently prodding Genjo to answer any questions directly to him. In the end, he'd found it inordinately easy to lie and the reporters inordinately uninterested in asking probing questions. It was a farce.

Still, for the next three days reporters camped outside the nondescript brick building that housed Genjo's apartment, waiting for the least glimpse of him. Besieged as he was, Genjo spent his time ruminating, scouring his memories for any little hint of the secret that had revealed everything in his life was a lie and had turned his world upside down. He turned his cell phone off when the incessant vibrating became too much of a distraction, and didn't bother to turn on his laptop or his TV. He had no desire to be a part of the outside world.

And then, on the fourth day, the reporters were gone. It was as if the crews had never been there, just the residue of their hours of waiting remained - cigarette butts scattered on the concrete sidewalk and three black trash bags tied neatly at the curb. Genjo ventured out to buy the paper, some smokes and a cup of coffee, not to Dean &amp; Deluca, but to the corner deli. He brought everything home; he still had to get ready for school. Fortunately he had no classes on Mondays. On the other hand, Tuesdays were Constitutional Law. He was sure to run into Homura. That thought caused Genjo's stomach to lurch; with all that had transpired Saturday morning with Neil, he hadn't given much thought to an excuse for his behavior.

Curiously, there was no mention in the paper about the scandal, so when Genjo finished his coffee, he went to _The New York Times'_ website and pored over the weekend's articles. The stories were there - linking him to the Jameson family, suppositions about why Hiram Jameson would have covered it up. It felt strange to think that it was his genetic code residing in his body, not Koumyou's. And then there was his mother. She'd been an intern in the Governor's office, barely seventeen when she'd given birth to Genjo. The birth had been recorded as stillborn.

She'd died a couple of years ago, an apparent suicide. The stories of her sordid descent into madness were morbidly fascinating. Reading about her life was like watching a train wreck. Her madness twisted Genjo's guts into knots but he couldn't stop reading. He looked like her. She was fair and angular, a knockout. It wasn't such a stretch that a powerful man could and would want to sweep her off her feet, and then throw her to the wolves to preserve his reputation. The hush money had been used to buy drugs and for the rest of her life she drifted in and out of court-remanded rehab programs, never staying clean for more than a few months at a time. He couldn't find it in him to feel too sorry for her, though. Ultimately Genjo was relieved that he'd been spared that itinerant life, one in which his only assurance would have been an endless trail of bouncing between foster homes. Much like the lives of the kids who'd murdered Koumyou.

Hiram Jameson had gone to remarkable lengths to cover up Genjo's existence, but in the end he'd been his biological father's Achilles heel. According to what he'd read, it had been a biographer working on a manuscript who'd uncovered some correspondence in a dusty file cabinet buried in the reams of papers that had been preserved when Hiram had died. Not one of the articles painted Koumyou in a negative light; he'd made no monetary gains in accepting the infant as his charge, no record existed of him accepting money for keeping Genjo's true parentage a secret. His vociferous defense of his father at the press conference - the man who raised him - had rendered Koumyou's parenting unimpeachable.

Why any of this had surfaced now remained a mystery, though perhaps Neil was right; by the time he formally announced his intentions to run for president, it would be old news.

What was conspicuously missing from all of the news reports, though, was Neil's relationship with Koumyou. That absence left Genjo stunned and confused. Why had Neil made that confession, when it hadn't been uncovered? It made no sense at all! The answer eluded Genjo and the fact that he'd been taken into Neil's confidence made him feel somewhat indebted to his brother. Complicit. Bound to preserving it. _Uncomfortable._ He'd become his brother's keeper. When he called Neil to talk about it, his secretary put Genjo on hold for a few minutes, only to return saying that Neil was 'unavailable.' Genjo knew better than to bring anything up in writing - any correspondence would have to be preserved for the public record; he'd have to cool his heels waiting for Neil to decide the time was right to talk to him.

Heads turned when he showed up in the huge lecture hall for class. The news had traveled like wildfire. Genjo, however, was used to the behavior; it had happened often when people learned of Koumyou's death. The crime had become a textbook law case, so it was inevitable that someone would venture to ask Genjo about his involvement in it. He'd thought he'd long ago become inured to the curious stares, but now he was having trouble maintaining his poker face.

"Hello Genjo." Homura took the empty seat next to him and he swallowed hard, a flash of memories included how soft Homura's lips had been against his own and how they had tasted in the heat of passion just a few short days ago. It felt like another lifetime.

"Homura," he mumbled. His face felt hot.

Homura leaned closer. "You've had quite the weekend." Genjo nodded, his eyes fixed on the professor who'd just entered the forum. "But it seems that the matter had died the quick death it deserved."

Genjo's head whipped around, but the look on Homura's face - one that spoke of genuine conciliation - defused the anger that was threatening to spill out.

"Thanks," he ground out. "I guess the bastards found some other loser's life to destroy."

"They're just doing their jobs, albeit rather poorly. But we've got to learn how to play nice with them sometime. They can come in handy when we want to get a point across."

Genjo frowned. "So I should have welcomed their invasion of my privacy?"

"You were just collateral damage. Your brother was the real target. His ambitions aren't that secret, and he's made a lot of enemies. Some more deserved than others." The ease in which Homura had not only grasped Genjo's newfound family tie but also had distilled the events to their fundamental components took him aback for a few seconds.

Neil was driven, that Genjo could easily acknowledge. Neil also wasn't one to hang back when an opponent's weakness was uncovered. Still, it didn't make the situation any more palatable for Genjo, especially since it had affected his memory of Koumyou. He realized then that Homura could prove to be a strong ally and he was a little disappointed when the lecture began, cutting short their conversation. Two hours later he was ready for a break. As Genjo put away his laptop, Homura spoke again.

"Goku's asked me to relay his profound sorrow over the way he ruined our evening Friday last." The mention of his clandestine obsession, who happened to be Homura's boyfriend, jangled Genjo's raw nerves.

"I-"

"Say nothing, Genjo. He knows he pushed things a little too far. But we'd like to make it up to you with dinner on Saturday night."

"Why doesn't he invite me, then?" Genjo snapped, suddenly irritated at the way Homura so off-handedly spoke for Goku. It occurred to him then that he'd been trying to ignore the dominant-submissive aspects of Goku and Homura's relationship, but now he wondered with a sinking feeling if Homura had put Goku up to all of it.

"He's left several messages on your cell phone," Homura remarked casually. "Feel free to call him back, and I can guarantee you he will." He hefted his briefcase and walked toward the exit, leaving Genjo staring at him, his heart beating a little quicker. It hadn't been the exchange he'd been expecting - the one in which it was confirmed that he'd behaved poorly. Instead, the door had been left open to Genjo. Now it was up to him to decide whether to walk through it.

Later that day, Genjo found himself once again at Dean &amp; Deluca waiting for Goku. Their phone conversation had been cut short; Goku had been in class and Genjo had heard someone yelling at Goku to 'get off the _fucking_ phone' and back to his station. He'd hurriedly said he could be at the coffee shop by 3:30 before the phone went dead. By 3:45, Genjo was ready to leave. Ten minutes later when Goku hurried in, still clad in checkered chef's pants and a white coat bearing the crest of the French Culinary Institute, Genjo was royally pissed.

"Fucking _Monsieur_ Depardieu reamed me after class," Goku complained as he sat down heavily opposite Genjo. He noticed a smudge of white on Goku's cheek. "Even though I made the best _macarons_!" he continued. "They were _perfect._ Fucker has it in for me!" Goku sighed loudly and closed his eyes. Taking another deep breath, he opened them. "Wait!" He reclined in the chair and slipped a napkin out of his coat pocket then carefully unfolded it. "I saved you one. It should go good with your coffee." Goku laid the round confection on the table between them.

"It's caramel with a pinch of _fleur de sel_. My own recipe," he added proudly. Genjo eyed the treat warily before picking it up. It smelled good. Enticing.

"Thanks," he said before he raised it to his lips.

"Careful!" Goku warned as he took a bite.

The inside was gooey and Genjo felt some escape down his chin. But he was distracted by the taste - the cloying sweetness of the caramel was cut perfectly by the addition of salt. It barely registered that Goku had reached out, his index finger swiping the rivulet off Genjo's chin.

"This is good," he acknowledged, putting the oozing cake down on the napkin. He picked up his cup of coffee and chased the sweet with a mouthful of strong brew.

"Thanks! I made them with you in mind." Genjo felt a blush creep across his cheeks as he considered the subtext of Goku's statement, but when he looked at Goku's face there wasn't a hint of lasciviousness. Goku was a contradiction of innocence and artful sensuality. The combination was endearing; Genjo had never met anyone like him. But doubts tugged at his mind.

"Goku, there's something I need to ask you," he began. He wasn't sure how to broach the subject except to just be straightforward. "Did Homura put you up to last week?"

"Huh?" Goku's eyes went wide, then he knitted his brow. "If you mean the 'cuffs, no that was _my_ stupid idea," he scowled.

"It wasn't stupid. It just ... surprised me." It wasn't really a lie, Genjo reasoned. It _had_ surprised him. He decided to leave out that it had caused a near panic attack.

Goku snorted and leaned forward. "Of course it was stupid. I ruined everything. We were having a good time up to that point." He pinned Genjo under his gaze. "You were, weren't you?" he asked, his expression less sure now.

Genjo offered him a small smile. He'd been on the receiving end of the best blowjob he'd ever experienced and, if he were being totally honest, he had to admit the way Homura ordered Goku to do it had been an even bigger turn-on. But it was also troubling.

"You weren't coerced, were you?"

Goku sat back, a frown forming at his lips. "Is that what ya think? That Homura whores me out?" he asked, indignation causing his voice to rise. Genjo's eyes darted about the busy café; it didn't seem like anyone had heard the remark. But now that it had been vocalized, Genjo recognized how cheap it sounded.

"You really don't like him," Goku added, his voice matter-of-fact. He folded his hands over his lap and looked away, focusing his gaze out the window.

"It's not that," Genjo retorted. He rubbed his forehead. That much was true - he didn't _dislike_ Homura. It wasn't that at all. He clenched his jaw. "I'm jealous."

"Why?"

Wasn't it obvious? Genjo stared at Goku, incredulous.

"Genjo, we want you to _join_ us," Goku explained as if it were the most natural conclusion in the world.

"Don't you love each other?" he blurted.

"Of course we do! But..." Goku sighed. "How can I put this?" he pursed his lips. "Okay. Homura _did_ put me up to meeting you."

"Oh, so this is some kind of foreplay for the two of you."

"Will you STOP!?!" Goku snapped. Genjo was surprised by his anger.

"Listen to me! It's not like that at all! Homura has done so much for me, Genjo. He took me in off the street. I had nothing - no one -- before him. He pays for my schooling. Because of me, his family wants nothing to do with him! They can't take his trust away, but he's been ostracized! They think I'm some kinda grifter!"

"So because of that, you feel that you owe him?"

"NO! I mean I _would_ do anything for him if he asked, but it's not like that!" Goku backpedaled. "We love each other, but ... well ... but ... then you came along."

"Me," Genjo intoned.

"He'd told me all about you - that you guys went to school together. He had a crush on you back then. And when he saw you again ... he asked me."

Genjo blinked, not sure he'd heard right. Homura had been attracted to him? Goku began babbling again.

"There was no pressure, Genjo. He told me that I should meet you, an' I did. It took me a few days to get up the courage -- I'm lucky you have habits -- ya do the same thing everyday. And I'm glad I did, 'cause when I did, something clicked. You felt it too, didn't you?" Goku peered at him, his expression so earnest that Genjo wanted to gather him up in his arms, tell him 'yes'. But his hands were stayed by his rational mind. He'd been betrayed. He nodded his head curtly.

"Look, I'm sorry we lied! But he wanted me to have an out." Goku stopped for a few seconds. When he spoke again, his voice was resigned.

"Genjo, I'm torn," he admitted finally. "I love Homura, but we want you to be a part of that too. You don't have to be jealous," he added, his voice hardly above a whisper.

But what he had to do was share. Genjo couldn't help but think how things would have been different if he'd been the one who had found Goku first. He wouldn't be so magnanimous as Homura. He wouldn't share.

"I don't know if I can do that," he admitted finally, pushing his coffee cup aside.

Goku's shoulders drooped. Genjo regarded him in his crisp chef's whites, and looked back down at the pastry on the table that Goku had brought as a peace offering. His head was spinning from their talk. He kept returning to one piece of information Goku had shared with him. Homura had liked him back at Milton? They'd never even so much as exchanged furtive glances.

"I know this is a lot to think about," Goku said, rising. He dug his hand into his back pocket. "If you think we have a chance, then why don't you come over Saturday night? You don't even have to call, just drop by." He placed a card next to the _macaron_. "Take care, Genjo." With one last wistful glance over his shoulder, Goku walked away.

Genjo picked up the hand-written card.

_Homura &amp; Goku -  
60 Gramercy Park N  
Penthouse 16A  
GR5-3912_

When he looked up, Goku was standing in front of him again.

"There was somethin' I forgot," Goku said, his arms crossed over his chest. He was scowling. "Homura would be pissed at me if he found out, but you should know. Isn't it amazing how fast the stories about your family disappeared? Well he did that. Not because he wanted you to owe him, either, but because what they were doing was wrong. _That's_ the kind of guy he is." Goku turned away quickly, leaving Genjo in stunned silence, his mind slowly turning over the fact that Homura _could_ and _would_ orchestrate something like that.

It was only later that evening, after Genjo had done some Googling, that he'd found out that Homura's grandfather - his mother's father -- was a media mogul; Homura's family had tendrils in nearly every major market in the country. Despite Goku's statement, Genjo didn't know how he should feel about Homura's intervention. Certainly not _indebted_. At least not any more than he felt indebted to Neil.

By Thursday following, Genjo had grown impatient waiting for Neil to return his call so he phoned Neil's Senate office again, refusing to get off the line until he spoke to him. The conversation had been tense and did nothing to answer any of the lingering questions on Genjo's mind. The straightforwardness of the previous week had disappeared, which wasn't a terrible shock, and Neil had stonewalled him at every turn, finally brushing him off with a terse 'we'll talk over the holidays, _brother_. I expect to see you then.' It wasn't as if Genjo had expected things to change between them, but there had been a small glimmer of hope. In retrospect, Genjo realized that even if he wanted to, Neil wouldn't speak about any personal matters to him except in person, now that he'd decided someone had it in for him.

The conversation had left Genjo feeling hollowed out. It reminded him of how alone he truly was. Genjo had never been lonely; he'd always been a loner, but his nerves had been rubbed raw by the move to New York and now by the upheaval that a secret begun a quarter of a century ago had visited upon his life.

He'd spent Friday weighing the pros and cons of taking Goku and Homura up on their offer - from the scandal it would create if it ever got out that he was involved in a three-way romance with the president's nephew and another man to the doubt that he had it in him to be in a relationship with one person, let alone two. It didn't help that as the minutes ticked by that evening, his thoughts kept drifting back to Sanctuary; he'd half a mind to return there, the other half berated him for being insane. As he lay awake in the grip of insomnia, the memory of a long-ago conversation came back to him.

_Be open to new experiences, Genjo. Life is for living, and living means taking risk. A man unwilling to take risks has no business living._

But Dad, you_ don't take any risks._

Yet here I am, flesh and blood. Why do you suppose that is?

With what he'd learned over the past week, Genjo had come to understand that Koumyou had gambled when he took on the newborn of a friend's dalliance as his own son. He'd taken another chance when he'd begun an affair with that same friend's underage son. Genjo would have liked to think that Koumyou wouldn't have been so secretive except he he hadn't been trying to protect Neil. Much like Koumyou'd protected him. With those final, closing thoughts, he drifted off into a fitful sleep.

By Saturday, the open invitation was all Genjo could think about. He'd gone over the events of the week in all their minute detail until he'd made himself sick of them. What stood apart though was that in separate conversations, both Goku and Homura had been ardent about picking up where they'd left off the previous Friday, but it was more than an evening of adventure that they were looking for. Goku and Homura were serious in pursuing him as an equal partner in a triad. Genjo didn't consider himself a prude; in the past, though, he'd been far more interested in attaining his goals than sex, and the idea of being involved with Goku _and_ Homura was still something he found difficult to entertain. Except whenever he thought about the two of them and what they were offering, his stomach fluttered pleasantly and his cock twitched its approval.

Homura was easily his intellectual equal, and Goku... Goku had a way with people - a rare warmth that only the most talented politicians possessed. Neil could learn a lot from the kid, he snorted. Both Goku and Homura were beyond good-looking and Sanzo felt helplessly drawn in by Goku. At the same time, he couldn't deny that he did find Homura attractive, it was just the natural rivalry he felt when it came to Goku keeping him from feeling the strength of that attraction. It didn't hurt to know that Homura seemed as much in his thrall as he was in Goku's. Uneasily, Genjo had come to the conclusion that Homura had influenced the media because he'd wanted to. If he'd expected to leverage it for something in return, he would have made some kind of demand when he'd had the chance.

One thing was crystal clear. They were a package deal. If he were to proceed, he had to accept that; Genjo didn't doubt that they loved each other.

In the end, he saw two paths laid out before him. The one he was on was surely one where he would achieve his goal and become a competent lawyer. He would argue vociferously for his clients but would remain untouched by their stories. He would live under the shadow of his older brother, forever held out as a symbol of Neil's sense of responsibility and duty. There was no risk in that all but assured future.

Genjo didn't know where the other path would take him. One thing was pre-ordained; he'd still become a lawyer -- would remain a footnote in the career of Neil Jameson -- but this path intersected with the lives of two others.

"I'm scared," he said out loud.

Hearing the words in his own voice had a focusing effect. Why, was the first logical question. He pondered that, finally coming to the conclusion that he was frightened by how easily Goku had cracked the careful walls he'd erected around his heart, how easily they'd fallen away. And, as much as he wanted to hate Homura, as much as he was envious of the other man, Homura had given no reason for Genjo to feel that way. In fact, Homura had aided him anonymously - never expecting to be recognized for it. What scared him most though was that he could no longer deny he'd been more than willing to get physical with Homura. When the opportunity had presented, hell he'd been eager for it. Had even reciprocated.

If he wanted to live, he needed to take risks.

After Genjo showered and shaved, he rifled through his tiny closet looking for something appropriate, finally settling on a simple white button-down with a black gabardine suit. He left the collar of his shirt open and the first three buttons undone. He was grateful that he wasn't going to the club, he was much more comfortable in these clothes, and if he was to go through with this, he needed to be at ease.

He took his time walking the short distance to the address Goku had left with him; along the way, he thought what he could bring as an appropriate gift. After the confection Goku had left with him the last time they'd met, food was off the list. Wine wasn't much higher - Genjo never paid attention to the different wines that were served at the banquets and official functions he'd attended, and he figured that was probably another domain where Goku didn't need any help. That left flowers or chocolate. Genjo headed uptown, stopping at a green grocer on the corner of West Fourth Street and University Place, and bought two bouquets of audacious sunflowers - their bright canary petals reminding him of Neil's vestibule, of Koumyou. The choice felt right. He cradled the huge blooms in the crook of his arm as he crossed 14th Street and walked through Union Square Park, which marked the western edge of Gramercy. He wondered if Homura's apartment faced the park, and, if so, if it came with a set of keys to the private green.

Sixty Gramercy Park North was a doorman building with a long green awning that reached to the street. After passing through glass double-doors, Genjo had to wait in the lobby in front of the reception desk until he was announced. For a few frozen seconds he thought he'd be turned away because no one was home, but when the doorman put down the receiver of the phone he motioned to the elevator across the pristine lobby.

"Mr. Taishi says to send you up. Sixteenth floor, apartment A." He tipped his hat.

Genjo nodded and walked toward the elevator, the heels of his shoes clocking on the mirror-finish marble floor, echoing off the walls. He shifted the flowers and pressed the call button, suddenly self-conscious for bringing such an ostentatious bouquet.

The car that arrived was well appointed - marble-floored with dark-wood paneling. It soundlessly took him up to the penthouse floor, no stops in-between. The elevator let him out to a non-descript hallway; he found the door to16A down the left side.

As he raised his closed fist to knock, the door swung open, away from him.

"Genjo! Come in, come in!" Goku said excitedly. "Oh! Those are pretty!" He added when he reached for the flowers in Genjo's arms. "Let me take them from you!" Before he could react, Genjo was being relieved of his burden. And then was treated to an armful of Goku.

"I'm so glad you came," he said before slipping away. "Take off your shoes an' follow me!"

As Goku walked away, Genjo took note of his surroundings. He was in a narrow vestibule, the wall to his left curved gently away. He deposited his shoes on the shor rack against the wall to his right. The hallway spilled into a sizeable living room decorated in tasteful earth tones. Double-doors opposite were opened wide to a verdant terrace. Glancing to the left, Genjo passed an arch that led to a dining area. Beyond another open door he could see there was an outdoor space.

To his right, in the living room, was a long wall painted a soft mossy green, broken only by a stately fireplace mantle, above which hung a flat panel TV screen. Across from the fireplace was a neatly tailored chocolate brown leather couch and oversize ottoman. He glanced down. Under foot was a parquet floor covered by an expanse of a soft, nubby, mottled avocado green rug.

Over the couch was an enormous painting of huge black-eyed poppies. The reds of the petals nearly took up the entire canvas. The apartment was tastefully furnished, comfortable and lived-in, and Genjo got the sense that he was truly welcome there.

Goku lead him out to the terrace, which was enclosed by a low brick and slipped on a pair of slippers, pointing out a guest pair to Genjo and waited for him to slip them on. They walked side-by-side along the terrace, a row of potted trees and shrubs against the outside wall forming a natural privacy hedge. Various vines on trellises leaned against the outer wall of the apartment. They passed two chaise lounges, a low table between them, and Genjo imagined it would be nice to sit out there on warm mornings drinking coffee and reading the newspaper, then quicky pushed that thought aside. It wasn't as if he were being asked to live with Homura and Goku.

At the corner of the building, the terrace widened as it wrapped around. There in the larger space was an outdoor dining set fashioned from teak. This part of the terrace faced west and was illuminated by the residue of what must have been a brilliant sunset. Homura was there, his back to them, lighting candles. Genjo watched him, trying to see him in the new light of what Goku had told him.

"Genjo brought us flowers," Goku announced. Homura turned from his task, a warm smile on his face as he first looked at Goku and then settled his gaze on Genjo.

"I'm glad you decided to join us," he remarked. "And thank you for the flowers." Homura came towards them and stopped at the table.

"I'm gonna put these in water." Goku disappeared into the apartment through the doorway in the dining room.

Now that they were alone, Genjo was at a loss as to what to say to Homura. The absurdity of the situation threatened to undermine the bravado he'd mustered to get himself to their apartment.

"Nice place," he settled on.

"Thanks." Homura waved his hand lazily in the air. "It's been in the family for ages - a pied-a-terre available to anyone visiting New York for an extended period."

"How long have you been living here?"

"A couple of years. Long enough to replace the hideous paint and furniture. I swear it hadn't been updated since the '60s," he related. "It was quite mod, but atrocious." Genjo snorted, trying to imagine what the place had looked like before. Usually he despised small talk, but this felt ... safe. Neutral.

Homura pulled the chair in front of him away from the table. "Why don't you have a seat, make yourself at home?" he asked. He waited for Genjo to sit down before following suit. It occurred to Genjo that Homura was nervous, probably just as nervous as he was. Goku was the only one who seemed fully at ease with the situation.

He reappeared bearing a tray with three flutes, a gilt bottle, and a platter bearing small round pancakes with healthy dollops of some inky substance dotted with sour cream.

"Blini!" Goku exclaimed happily. "I hope you like 'em?" He glanced at Genjo, seeking his approval. Caviar was something he could tolerate. Genjo nodded his head and watched Goku expertly pour the wine. "And champagne, of course, because nothing goes better with caviar."

"You opened the Perrier-Jouet?" Homura asked, reaching for the golden bottle.

"Uh-huh. It's the best to pair with the osetra." He settled into a seat between Homura and Genjo. "And we're celebrating tonight, aren't we? _À votre santé_!" Goku raised his glass in a cheer.

After taking a sip, Homura turned his attention to Genjo. "Tonight's our anniversary-"

"But we _wanted_ you to join us," Goku interrupted, "to have a new beginning." He cast a brilliant smile at Genjo. Genjo wasn't sure how to respond, the situation was bordering on bizarre.

"Goku's a bit wound up," Homura chuckled, then his expression turned serious. "What Goku meant-"

"It's okay," Genjo interrupted. He didn't want Homura to make excuses for Goku. They were trying too hard. "I get it." He took a sip of the champagne, and Goku pushed the platter into the center of the table. The wine was deliciously light, the bubbles effervescent on his tongue. "I came here because I wanted to, but ..." he struggled for the words. "I need to go slow." He felt acutely uncomfortable making that admission, because _fuck_, he'd seemed ready for it when he'd come in Goku's mouth the week before.

Homura nodded his head. "I think we should all get to know each other better," he agreed.

And so it began.

Over the next few weeks Genjo would come over for dinner every Saturday night. Sometimes he and Homura would talk about course-work, other times they would discuss the nuances of the judicial decisions they'd been reading about. There was little that they didn't agree upon, Genjo came to realize; Homura had chosen to intern for Sterling and Connelly to learn the inner workings of 'the enemy' as Homura called them.

"You can't hope to change society at its very core unless you are familiar with the power-mongers," he expounded over aperitifs one night. "Isn't it why you worked for the US Attorney's office?"

The question took Genjo by surprise. That hadn't been his reasoning at all. After a few moments, he'd had to admit that at the time it had been because he'd wanted to go after criminals.

"But you changed your mind, Genjo. That shows a flexibility we don't often see in this profession. It's so easy to become dogmatic."

"I never thought about it that way, but I suppose if Koumyou hadn't been ... murdered ... I would have just done something else." His life had become consumed with his purpose from that fateful day onward.

Goku's amazing meals overlaid their conversations, creating a warm cocoon, cunningly working under Genjo's skin, refusing to let him hold onto his trepidations. Neither of them pressed him physically, though Goku still managed to wrap himself around Genjo in a bear hug every time he came over.

Soon, though, he started coming over earlier, to help Goku in the kitchen. He found that Homura regularly pitched in too, taking orders from Goku without complaint, turning Genjo's take on their relationship on its head once again. The confines were tight, they worked nearly on top of each other, Genjo acutely aware of the others as he strove to follow Goku's directions. It was hard work, and it only heightened his appreciation for Goku's talent. He made preparation seem easy; the knife flashing in his deft hand, taming whatever vegetable he chose into neat cubes or perfect matchsticks.

Not long after that, Genjo began to spend entire weekends at the penthouse. The first night he tried to insist on sleeping on the couch, but Goku wouldn't hear of it.

"Genjo, don't be ridiculous! The bed is huge!" Goku grabbed his hand and tugged him toward the room. He'd never stepped foot in it and the door was always closed. For a split-second before Goku turned the knob Genjo had visions that he was being led into some kind of dungeon. He was sorely disappointed. The bedroom, like the rest of the apartment, was tastefully decorated. Of the size of the bed, Goku hadn't been exaggerating; it dominated the room, its four posts rising to nearly meet the ceiling.

Genjo took in the entire room, the walls were a deep aubergine, the sand-colored bed linens peeked out from under a comforter adorned with a pattern of huge, muted orange chrysanthemums strewn on a background a shade lighter than the walls. Pillows and bolsters were neatly arranged at the head.

"I can sleep on the couch," Homura offered solicitously, which made Genjo vaguely guilty. But he'd have Goku to himself. It was then he realized that that capitulation wouldn't make him happy. He no longer wanted to have Goku to the exclusion of Homura.

"No." He swung his head around, catching Homura's gaze. "I don't want that. I want you to stay."

If he thought that would change the relationship that they'd fallen into, Genjo was wrong. That night, and many others afterward, he fell asleep comfortably sandwiched between Goku and Homura. Slowly it dawned on him, Homura and Goku were waiting for him to make the first move. He still wasn't ready, but crawling into bed together and waking up a tangle of limbs felt good. For the first time in years, Genjo felt ... wanted. Content. Comfortable.

Before Genjo knew it, the semester was over and the holidays were upon him. Finals had slammed both he and Homura; they spent hours together studying. Goku's semester had ended before theirs; he turned all his focus on both Genjo and Homura, plying them with a steady menu of what Genjo could only describe as gourmet comfort food. Just as he'd written his last final - he was heading back to the apartment on Gramercy Park -- Neil contacted Genjo, leaving voicemail on his cell phone. Neil's timing was impeccable; Genjo had almost forgotten their last conversation, but in a flurry of phone calls back and forth Neil managed to secure a promise from Genjo to train down to DC and spend Christmas together.

That night, the thought of sleeping alone for a week in the guest bedroom of Neil's apartment had Genjo restless. He lay in bed in his now familiar place between Goku and Homura listening to their easy breaths. Every nerve in his body hummed, reacting to the casual arm that fell across his chest, the lazy rub of a foot sliding down his calf. At some Goku curled against him in his sleep and he rolled onto his side, his taller frame enveloping Goku. He skimmed his hand over Goku's hip and rested it -- fingers splayed -- over his taut abdomen. Goku's skin was hot to the touch; his belly rose and fell with his even breaths. Almost immediately, Homura echoed his move. Goku sighed and he covered Genjo's hand with his own, his calloused fingers gently rubbing over the back of Genjo's hand. Goku rolled so that he was facing Genjo.

"You okay?" he asked Genjo, his voice heavy with sleep. "What is it?" Goku's eyes were open now; concern edged his voice.

Genjo shook his head slowly; he didn't want to talk about the malaise that had descended over his impending departure. Instead, he slid his hand along Goku's back, fingers reading the knobs of his spine. When he reached the nape of Goku's neck, he tightened his grip momentarily before releasing Goku. It was all he could do to control himself. Suddenly, Genjo wanted Goku with the same intensity as the first time he laid eyes on him all those months ago. At the same time, he luxuriated in the warm press of Homura against his back. Desire washed over him, flooding his senses; he was taken surprise by it, but rather than fight it, he succumbed.

Genjo let out a shuddering breath. He retraced his path along Goku's spine, descending further, delving his index finger under the band of Goku's boxers and into the depression at the top of his ass. Goku trembled underneath the pads of his fingers. In the dim light Genjo watched the expression on Goku's face change as his finger delved further, following along the crevice, his hand and wrist sliding Goku's underwear off his narrow hip. A little needy moan fell from Goku's lips, his breath was hot against Genjo's cheek. And then Goku's mouth covered his, tongue hungrily demanding entrance. Genjo eagerly obliged. He palmed Goku's firm cheek and Goku threw his knee over Genjo's hip, opening himself, giving Genjo free access to explore his body further. He brushed a fingertip over Goku's tight hole and Goku groaned heartily. He broke the kiss and stroked Genjo's cheek with the backs of his fingers, his eyes ablaze with lust.

"I want you to fuck me."

The frank admission settled right into Genjo's throbbing dick. He felt Homura's weight shift behind him, the initial alarm of realizing Homura was awake immediately ameliorated by Homura's raspy voice.

"Please."

In the next instant Goku dipped his head and latched on to one of Genjo's nipples, his teeth clamping down on the sensitive flesh. Genjo arched into the torment, Goku reciprocated by biting just a little harder. The pain was exquisite, it radiated out from that tiny peak, racing along his nerves. He felt a strong hand on his shoulder, urging him onto his back. Goku leaned forward until he was straddling Genjo; somewhere in the transition he'd lost his boxers, his cock was heavy and hot as it brushed over Genjo's belly.

Genjo planted his feet on the bed and lifted his hips, wriggling out of his own boxers. He heard the scrape of wood on wood; turning his head he watched Homura's handsome profile as he rummaged through the nightstand drawer. Homura turned his head toward Genjo, a triumphant smile on his face, a tube of lubricant in his hand. Genjo exchanged glances with him.

"Get him ready, then," Genjo said huskily. For the first time, he thought he might be able to get the hang of a three-way relationship. For the first time, he thought it wasn't such a bad idea. He widened his legs to accommodate Homura, felt his cool fingertips brush along the length of his thigh. Genjo shivered.

Homura slipped out of his boxers and slid behind Goku, his hands caressing over the jut of his hipbones before coming together to uncap the lube. Goku's pelvis gyrated in a slow, sensual dance and then he lowered himself until he was on all fours, his lips centimeters above Genjo's. A lazy smile formed at the corners of Goku's mouth and then his eyes widened and he blew out a quick breath. Genjo closed the distance between them, ravaging Goku's mouth, his tongue flexing deep inside the delectable heat. A whine bubbled up from deep in Goku's throat and he returned Genjo's kiss ferociously, thrusting his tongue in and out. Genjo thought he would come right there, knowing Homura was finger-fucking Goku into ecstasy, feeling the moist tip of Goku's hard cock trailing pre-come over his belly, smelling their mutual arousals -- it was bordering on sensory overload. He gripped Goku's shoulders and thrust his hips up to grind their erections together. They both groaned in unison. He wanted to be inside, to feel Goku's hot walls gripping his cock.

"Hurry it up!" Goku demanded between breaths, before claiming Genjo's lips again.

"Don't be so impatient," Homura chided. "You sound like a wanton hussy," he drawled.

"It's been too fucking long," Goku managed between kisses. "I _feel_ like a god-damn virgin!"

"Not with that mouth." Genjo felt Goku's body shudder above him.

"Fu-fu-fuuuuuuuck," Goku rasped, his back arching as he rose off his hands. Genjo pulled him back down, attacking his dirty mouth hungrily, only to feel Goku pulled away from his grasp.

"Why don't you tell us what you want?" Homura murmured huskily. For a second Genjo thought Homura was asking him, but even if he had been, Goku interjected.

"I want you to tie me up and fuck me. I want to ride Genjo while you watch, then I want you to fuck me too, babe," Goku said in a rush of breath.

Homura's lips dropped to Goku's shoulder. Genjo watched him tongue along the ridge, then Homura grabbed a fistful of Goku's hair and tugged his head back. Leaning forward he attacked the graceful arc of Goku's exposed throat. It was more than Genjo could bear to watch. He rolled into a sitting position and zeroed in on the metal barbell that pierced Goku's nipple. His tongue dragged over the metal, drawing a strangulated howl from Goku. Genjo turned his face upwards to view Homura devouring Goku's mouth.

Genjo slid his hands over the smooth flesh of Goku's sides and curved his fingers over Goku's hips. He could feel Homura's hand working Goku's hole. Genjo dropped one of his to ghost over Homura's wrist as he returned his attention to Goku's dusky aureole, teasing his tongue around the puckered skin. Hands roved over Genjo's body, exploring it inch by inch, mapping out every nuance. Genjo basked in the attention, but soon became engrossed in eliciting a symphony of needy sounds from Goku as he switched his attention between his two taut peaks.

Genjo felt Homura's weight lift from the bed, then heard him moving about the room; it wasn't until he heard the first clink of metal that it dawned on Genjo what was happening. He dropped back on his elbows. Homura had turned on an accent light; Goku was bathed in the soft incandescence. He was still kneeling, but now his body was leaning forward. One arm extended out, a handcuff attaching his wrist to one of the four-posts of the bed. Homura circled around and affixed Goku's other arm.

Goku's only response was to groan appreciatively. He tipped his chin down, his eyes lidded, his demeanor suddenly docile. Something landed on Genjo's stomach, drawing his attention away from Goku's face. He looked down, for a moment uncomprehendingly, at a slim black ring.

"Go on, we don't want Goku to come too soon," Homura purred.

Genjo swallowed, suddenly aware of how achingly hard he was. Gingerly he lifted the slender rubber circle and positioned it at the crown of Goku's dick.

"Genn-joh," Goku whined, dragging out each syllable. "Pleeease."

He rolled the cock ring down Goku's length, then ghosted his fingers over the quivering hot flesh.

"No, we don't." Genjo's voice cracked as he agreed. He lay flat on his back, his eyes absorbing the tableau. Homura was once again between his legs, guiding Goku's body toward Genjo's sex. A lube-slick hand wrapped firmly around Genjo's erection and then time stood still as Goku descended and gradually opened to him, taking his hard cock in to the hilt.

It was all he'd imagined and more. He was paralyzed for a moment as he felt Goku's muscles adjust; he watched, rapt, as Homura teased his hands over Goku's unprotected chest, twisting the barbell piercing in tandem with its unadorned twin, eliciting a low keen from Goku. On the heels of that unbelievably erotic sound, Goku began to move. He raised himself off Genjo's cock and then slammed back down.

The sensation was amazing, the friction, exquisite. Within seconds Genjo was matching Goku's thrusts, his hips rising and falling with Goku's frantic pace. He didn't know how long he could hold on. It seemed as if Goku was forcibly pulling his climax forth from his body. He turned his attention to Homura, who was feasting on Goku, leaving red marks where he sucked and nipped at his enchanting body. Genjo felt Homura's hand slide against the inside of his thigh and then over the curve of his ass, before wrapping around to his hip. Homura pinned his gaze on Genjo, searching his face for any hint of reluctance.

In fact, he wasn't feeling averse at all to Homura touching him. He had an inkling of what Homura wanted and couldn't find any argument to stop him, not when he was buried inside Goku, chasing his orgasm. Not when Goku was straining against his bonds with each drive, not when he was shamelessly howling each time he rose and fell, between barely intelligible exhortations begging for 'more' in one breath and demanding them not to 'fucking stop' in the next. Genjo cracked a genuine smile; he'd been wrong about Goku and Homura's relationship. Dead wrong. Goku called the shots, and Homura obeyed.

Homura slid his free arm under Genjo's other leg and suddenly his hips were off the mattress. The next thing he felt was the slide of Homura's neglected sex against his ass. Homura, to his credit, went no further than rubbing, but the added pressure as Genjo was squeezed between their bodies had him coming undone. He came hard, driving erratically into Goku's tight heat. Goku rode out Genjo's orgasm, Genjo's hands hard on his hips as wave after wave of pleasure rolled over his body and he pumped into Goku. He felt his dick soften and, as Homura lowered his hips down to the bed, he slipped out of Goku, groaning softly from the loss of contact.

When he could move his limbs again, Genjo scooted up the bed, making room for Homura. He then rose unsteadily to his knees, face to face with Goku. Goku's eyes were wild with lust; barely any of his golden irises remained. Genjo kissed him gently, but Goku wasn't having any of that, he kissed back ferociously, pouring all his pent up desire into Genjo's mouth. Goku's body began to sway again, against the constraints and Genjo realized from the soft, rhythmic grunts that punctuated the air that Homura had entered him. He broke the kiss and trailed his tongue down Goku's sweat-sheened body. The tang of salt filled his mouth as he descended lower, tracing his lips over the hollow of Goku's sternum, then the smooth skin of his belly. The heady whiff of sex permeated his nostrils as he dipped his tongue into the divot of Goku's bellybutton before following the line of downy hair that led to his groin.

Goku's dick was an angry purple, engorged as it was. The crown was glistening with precome. Genjo rested his hands flat on the bed and wrapped his lips around the tip. He let Homura's movements slide Goku's cock in and out while his tongue swirled over and around the turgid flesh.

"Beautiful," Homura whispered. His hand caressed Genjo's cheek then fell away. Goku's hips were moving once again, fervently, vainly seeking his pinnacle. Genjo reached up to relieve him of the cock ring, but Homura's hand was already there. Backing off from Goku's dick, Genjo encircled the base with his hand and clamped down while Homura rolled the tight band off. Goku cried out, and his cock thickened almost immediately. Genjo hastened back to his task and the first tang of Goku's come filled his mouth. It was followed by more and Genjo licked and sucked hungrily at Goku's pulsing erection, savoring the vaguely metallic taste of his essence. Homura's chin rested on Goku's shoulder, he groaned and his hands stilled Goku's hips. He was pistoning into Goku now; Genjo could feel the strength of his drives through Goku's body. They became frenetic and then Homura cried out as he finally came. Goku's body sagged against him, then, and he peppered Goku's neck and shoulders with kisses.

Genjo shakily rose back to his knees. He spied two keys on the nightstand and reached for them, making fast work of the cuffs at Goku's wrists. Goku's arms fell heavily, and he took one and massaged it gently, while Homura worked the circulation back into the other. Goku's body was pliant and Sanzo liked the way he let them both fuss over him. When he stirred a bit, Homura pulled back the covers, and they gently helped Goku lay down on the bed. Opening his eyes, his face broke out into a broad grin.

"That was fucking amazing!" he exclaimed merrily.

Homura chuckled and Genjo let out a quiet laugh. He was euphoric. He stroked Goku's face, pushing away the damp locks that clung to his forehead, then leaned down and kissed it.

"You're fucking amazing," Homura echoed. He stretched out next to Goku and spooned him, his arm curving over Goku's slender waist.

Goku only smiled again, then sighed dreamily. "I can't wait 'til you get back, Genjo," he mumbled.

"Nor I," Homura enjoined.

Genjo pulled the covers up over their bodies and reclined, facing Goku and Homura. He ran his hand over the contour of Homura's cheek, and then over Goku's, then back again, softly caressing their faces. Both of them were drifting off to sleep, so Genjo could look at them without feeling the least bit self-conscious.

They looked beautiful together, he thought; then: they were his, and he was theirs. Genjo smiled and closed his eyes, contentedly settling his head on the pillow next to Goku's face.

The next afternoon Genjo waited on the Amtrak platform at Grand Central Station, alone for the first time in days, the events of the previous evening burned indelibly into his brain. The morning hadn't been uncomfortable at all. No mention was made of their escapades, but Genjo could feel an absence of tension between them all that he hadn't even realized had been there. Breakfast had been a leisurely affair, Goku manning the grill, frying bacon and then spinach and cheese omelets while Genjo brewed coffee and Homura made toast. Afterwards, they'd all gone back to his apartment while he'd packed and then Goku had insisted they accompany him uptown. Genjo had been reluctant to leave, especially when he found out that Goku would spend Christmas alone, as Homura had been called to his family's estate on Long Island. He'd asked Goku to accompany him to DC and had been politely but firmly turned down; Homura was only going to be gone for the better part Christmas Day, Goku maintained he didn't mind some time to himself.

While at his apartment, Homura had mentioned that while he was gone, if Genjo wanted, he and Goku could move the rest of his clothes over. The significance of the offer was immense. Genjo figured Homura knew it was risky. At the same time, the press was strategic, without saying so; he was gauging Genjo's commitment. He'd practically moved in with them the entire month of December, but had been too consumed with exams and end-of-term papers to think about anything else other than schoolwork to even realize it. Now that he was aware, though, Genjo knew his decision immediately. As he dead-bolted the door behind him, he turned and handed Homura the keys. He knew the place, filled with his memories of Koumyou, would remain there for him should he want to escape, but the apartment on Gramercy was his home now.

Goku wanted to see the tree at Rockefeller Center and, though Genjo knew they'd be cutting it close, he was loath to disappoint his lovers, or at least that's what he settled on telling himself. He knew closer to the truth was he didn't want to leave Homura and Goku, not yet, not so soon after he'd finally made his leap of faith.

Up until that point, in the few weeks since Genjo had first come to the apartment on Gramercy Park, they'd never been out, all three together. Now, as they stood in the open-air mall gaping at the huge pine tree, dazzled by the lights and ornaments, it felt like the most natural thing in the world. Genjo followed Goku's gaze. He imagined that the tree must look unbelievable at night. Homura stepped behind Goku, slinging an arm over his shoulder. He glanced at Genjo, a questioning look on his face before his other arm tentatively encircled Genjo's waist. He stepped closer to them both; Goku, without taking his eyes off the spectacle, slipped his hand into Genjo's. In that moment, the world around them ceased to exist for Genjo; he felt at peace. It was Homura who murmured that it was time for them to leave.

A breeze stirred in the tunnel, harbinger of an approaching train, Genjo stepped back from the edge of the platform and adjusted his satchel on his shoulder. He'd figured that Goku and Homura had been sleeping together all along; only to remain celibate on the nights he'd shared their bed. The thought had wormed its way insidiously into head, and he realized now that it had overshadowed much of the time he'd spent in their company, though not enough to turn him away. Now he understood that Homura and Goku had waited for him, they'd done their level best to include him in their lives, so much so that he truly was as much a part of theirs as they were his.

The train rumbled into the station and the doors opened, accompanied by the crackle of the conductor's voice announcing the departure time for Washington. Genjo boarded, his mind already past his impending reunion with his brother, instead he chose to focus on the celebration that Goku and Homura were planning for when he returned on New Year's Eve.


End file.
